


Golden Bullets

by CescaLR



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Best Friends, Book 6, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Child Abuse Leaves Mental Scars Thanks, F/M, Female Friendship, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hermione Granger Critical, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Ron Weasley-centric, That's Called Assault And Even Potentially Abuse, You Don't Attack Your Friends Kids, but - Freeform, it'd be Miss Granger - thank god she's not because she'd be a terror, mhmmmmmmm no thanks, not so much implied as very much stated but it doesn't occur duing the story, violent behaviour that went unaddressed except to be praised????? check check check, violent behaviour?? check, y'all are out here calling Ron abusive and like???? no??? Clearly if any of them were
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2020-03-13 06:31:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18935341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CescaLR/pseuds/CescaLR
Summary: Actions have consequences.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's the 'Graphic Depictions of the Aftermath of Violence From A Previously Trusted Source' sooooooooooooooooooo since that's not a tag, per say... that Unholy Trinity of warnings is to be used by me. Again. 
> 
> Also, I want to reiterate; I do not nor have I ever hated Hermione Jean Granger. I don't particularly like or enjoy some of her actions, quite frankly, and the same can be said for many a character. It's like my love for Willow Rosenberg, or Stanford Pines, or - well, any number of characters. Flaws are /there/, and they should be addressed, especially if the author overlooked them. Hermione is an egregious example of doing things without repercussion, and this is the most startling example of that. Not even Harry said /anything/ about how bad this was. Ron wasn't even really /mad/; he didn't /retaliate/, and this is /Ron/. Ron not retaliating to verbal abuse or physical violence is unlikely to the point of it being OOC, and I can't belive JK did this. Even if it was Hermione who did the spell, and though it's unlikely since that's the case that he'd retaliate in a phsyical manner - but he'd surely not so easily go back to the will-they-won't-they of before, frankly. That shit was betrayal, plain and simple; you. Don't. Hurt. Your. Friends. I can't believe I have to explain this. I've seen /defense/ for her actions in this scene and. 
> 
>  
> 
> .  
> .  
> .  
> No.
> 
> So here this is.

"... Ron," Harry starts.

"I'll just - do what she says," Ron interrupts. "Hermione's right, anyway - don't want to leave Lavender waiting."

And then he's gone, before Harry can finish what he was going to say. And, frankly... he's almost glad, because Harry's not sure  _what_ words would have come out of his mouth - or how much worse they would have made the situation. 

Not how much better. Harry's not sure he could have made this situation any better with just a few words - he's still in shock, really. Hermione just - she just.

On the flip of a coin - Harry had thought her tears were for sadness, and he thinks that they were, yes but - also, it can't be ignored -

They were for anger. _Vicious fury,_ really - she hadn't held back, hadn't pulled her punches.

Ron's arms were - _are_ bleeding, Harry thinks, faintly. It's like -

He doesn't like to think this, but in the quiet privacy of his own head, this is like those times when he'd be doing his chores, and his Aunt would be in the room, and he'd do one thing, just one small mistake he didn't even notice - and she'd  _snap._ Swing a frying pan at his head, yell at him, throw something... it's like that. Calm to  _furious;_ sad to  _violent._

Harry, in this private moment, allows a shudder at the thought - but then, furiously, violently, shoves it into the back of his head.

_This isn't his argument._ For once - it's not his fight. He should - he _would,_ but Harry... Harry knows Hermione's upset with Ron for kissing Lavender, and maybe, perhaps, just slightly, he things there's an irony to that - to her being upset with that, when she's jealously upset with Ron for being jealously upset about her kising Viktor _-_ but also -

Ron doesn't... Ron doesn't know that, Harry thinks, just as Hermione doesn't know that's why Ron's upset with _her._ And it's not - _Ron_ didn't resort to...  _that._

And Harry - Harry doesn't want to get between Hermione's wand and her - target. 

And he hates this - but.

That goes for when the target is _Ron,_ too.

(The thing is. He flinches _enough_ when people he doesn't know very well move suddenly towards him, he moves quickly away _enough_ when people he doesn't like get near his personal space - he doesn't.... he doesn't want to associate his _near-sister_ with - with...

With _that.)_

* * *

Lavender watches with a frown as Hermione stalks past, and not a few moments later the door opens and - 

"Ron!" She exclaims, and hurries to his side. They aren't dating yet - god, they've only shared _the one kiss!_ They'll be dating _soon,_ she's got _plans,_ but not _quiet yet -_ but, _ohmygod -_

" _Ron!"_  She repeats, horrified, as she gingerly picks up his hands by the unblemished skin - what's left of it, anyway - and holds his arms up for inspection. He's bleeding - holes and cuts and slices... and are those  _feathers?_

" _What happened?"_ Lavender asks, gently pulls him away from the door and towards an alcove, as she takes out her wand. "Episkey," She says, and the wounds don't close. " _Episkey,"_ She repeats more forcefully, and Ron hisses, but the wounds do stop bleeding a little. It slows down, anyway. "Sorry!" Lavender cries out quietly, for any pain she caused, and hastily puts away her wand. "We should take you to the hospital wing - _what happened?"_ Lavender repeats, looks up into his (dreamy, _ohmygod, I **kissed** Ron Weasley!! Focus, Lavender, are you really thinking about that **now?** He's **hurt,** God-) _eyes and pleades with her expression for him to tell her.

Lavender's not stupid - she can totally figure it out on her own; Harry would _never_ attack Ron, and besides, his conjouring could do with some work, plus, he'd want any wounds he inflicted on his best mate to be fixed **stat** and whoever's magic caused this **doesn't want that -** so...

That leaves _**Granger.**_

( _There's a spell with your name on it, I **swear,** Hermione- If you **did this to not just my boyfriend but your best friend -)**  
_

Lavender had never particularly liked Hermione Granger, she'll be the first to admit that. In their first years she'd been bossy and wouldn't talk with them about much, and then she closed off after becoming friends with Harry and Ron, and then she was petrified for most of second year so Lavender never got a chance at a better second introduction, and then third year rolled around and she was so _tired_ Lavender didn't want to bother her, and **then** she had the **gall** to say what she did about Lavender's rabbit and _then_ Lavender **really didn't like her,** for reasons that should be obvious, and in fourth year she was distracted and Lavender didn't _want_ to be friends with her anymore, and then in fifth year everything went so _terribly_ that Lavender was just focusing on keeing her head above water -

And now. _**And now.**_

"I don't -" Ron starts, falters, as he looks down and seems to realise what happened to his arms - "I don't need the hospital wing," He says. "And it's -"

"If you say _fine_ I swear -" Lavender lets go of his hands and places hers on his shoulders, shaking him lightly, "Ron, _please._ Think! You're _hurt,_ please, just - just _tell me."_

"It's not that -" Ron shrugs, uncomfortable, and Lavender lets go of his shoulders. A little hurt, but.. well, she hasn't gotten to the 'get to know each other well and learn that it's great to divulge secrets to one-another, go communication and sharing!' stage of her 'woo Ron Weasley' plan yet, so. She gets it, though... in his place - well. Lavender supposes she can't claim to know what she'd do, if she were attacked by say - Parvati.

_God,_ she'd be in shock _forever._

For. Ever.

Maybe she should skip the 'reaffirm and solidify physical attraction' portion of the plan?

"Okay," Lavender says. "Okay. Just... let me bandage some of the worst ones, please?"

"... yeah, alright," Ron says. Lavender smiles at him, and - he smiles back, a little small and a little forced, maybe because he's still shocked that one of his two friends just attacked him.

Probably. That sounds most likely.

... Lavender doesn't think this lightly, but. _Bitch._

Lavender carefully links fingers with him, because they managed to mostly escape being diced up, and slowly walks back to the common room with him. Hopefully, by the time they arrive, Hermione will be back in bed or long gone, the latter much prefered, because Lavender isn't sure _what_ she'd do if she came across Hermione Granger any time soon.

* * *

Ron and Lavender re-enter the common room not long after Hermione walked in, walked upstairs, and slammed her dorm's door. 

"Fucking hell," Someone mutters. "What'd you two get up to?"

Lavender glares at the seventh year, and clutches Ron's fingers - not his hand, Ginny notes, absently, as she stares in confusion at the mess of Ron's arms - protectively.

" _We_ didn't do _anything,_ not that it's any of your business," Lavender says, and Ginny feels a suprirsing uptick in respect for the girl.

"Alright, whatever," The guy says, and then he leaves the common room. The parties died down; the disappearance of Ron and Harry and Hermione and then the rest of everyone who was pairing off or getting tired had left the place quiet a bit quieter than when Ron and Lavender had last been in there - and made their entrance that much more of a scene, Ginny thinks.

"Scram," Ginny says, loudly, as she stands. Some people look at her. "I said _scram,"_ She repeats, threateningly, and the rest of the people in the room do, as she places her hand on her wand and glares at them.

She might find it funny when mild misfortunes occur to her brothers, she might find it amusing to tease them - but if her brothers are hurt?

No.

"What happened?" Ginny demands, and walks over.

Lavender pouts slightly; obviously, Ron hadn't degined to tell her. Yet.

"Just..." Ron shrugs. Ginny narrows her eyes at him. "Am I going to have to ask Hermione? Harry?" Ginny asks, and Ron -

_winces._

Ginny frowns, and notes Lavender's glare in the direction of the girls' dorms.

Ginny looks back at her brother. "What happened?" She repeats, more warily. At that moment, the portrait swings open, and Harry steps into the common room. Ginny rounds on him, because if nothing else, she can ususally expect Harry to defend his friends from harm. "What. Happened." She demands, slowly, and gestures with her wand at Ron's arms.

"... Hermione." Harry says, and it's - strange. Like, even to his own ears, he can't believe what he's saying.

The thing is. Ginny... Ginny kind of can. Just a little. Marrietta's got permanent scars - physical _retribution,_ because that spell wasn't preventative, just _punishment,_ that's... not beyond Hermione's... ideals, morals, or whatever that falls under, Ginny thinks.

If she thought Ron had betrayed her in some way? Even though they're best friends, even though Hermione likes him and you'd be dumb not to notice Ron likes her back (which proves they're both very dumb, at least when it comes to romance, Ginny thinks)... you know, Ginny... Ginny can't _not_ see it.

That's a daunting thought. That - realisation. Ginny signed that contract, too. How had the curse - because it's a _curse,_ only _curses_ can leave _permanent,_ unable to be healed magically, _scars_ \- worked? Did it count anyone that hadn't signed the sheet being told about the DA as betrayal? What if Ginny had wanted to invite someone new to the DA that she trusted? Would the curse have affected her if she'd told them about it in order to invite them, or did the curse somehow differentiate? What if Colin had told his dad, who surely wouldn't have been untrustworthy; would he have been branded a 'Sneak'? Or little Dennis?

Ginny couldn't be sure, she supposes, so she pushses that line of thought aside for now.

"Hermione?" Ginny repeats. It - it sounds ridiculous to her own ears. Hermione, who had been friends with her brother for six years; who had been by his side through most every dangerous adventure during that time; who had a crush on him; who was one of his two _best friends -_ **she** did _this?_

Hermione - who can be casually, accidentally cruel; who **does,** Ginny admits, hurt people with magic; who has, Ginny knows, _done so before..._

"Oh."

"Yeah, well." Ron says, gruffly - embarrased, Ginny thinks. _Humilliated._ Upset. Maybe a little - or, well, no, **a lot** betrayed.

But mostly... this - as much as Ginny teased him, teases him... this was _his_ night. _His_ victory. This shouldn't have happened at all, but, today of all days?

"I'm tired," Ron says. "G'night,"

"Good night," Ginny echoes. Ron stomps off, and Harry, who shares a dorm with him, trails after. He's _hesitant,_ Ginny thinks, which is - very unlike him.

But then - Harry just witnessed...

Oh dear _Merlin._

"Fuck," Ginny says. She looks at Lavender, who's frowning worriedly, chewing at her bottom lip. Anxious and concerned.

"D'you wanna stay in our dorm tonight?" Ginny asks. "The others won't mind."

"... Thank you," Lavender says. "I just - I don't know what I'd _do._ She did **that** to _won-won..."_

Ginny refrains from commenting on that atrocious nick-name, and grimaces. Because... yeah, she'd probably curse Hermione if she saw her right now. 

"Yeah, okay, come on," Ginny says, and leads the way.

* * *

Harry stares up at the canopy of his bed when he wakes, and doesn't move until he hears the room empty of other people. He takes his time getting ready for the day, because if he doesn't then he's going to have to choose who to sit next to at lunch - most assuredly, Ron and Hermione won't be speaking for a while, and Harry's going to have to choose a side.

Again.

Harry's tired of this. He's so _tired;_ tired of their arguing, tired of their fights, their mutual jealousy, tired - tired of something so quietly _terrible_ that he didn't quite realise until _Hermione literally caused conjoured canaries to attack his best mate._

Harry rather likes Hermione - but he likes Ron more, if he's honest, and yet...

He can't pick Ron's side, because, right now, Hermione's, well -

_Volatile,_ a quiet voice whispers in the back of his head. _Keep your head down and your mouth shut, her mood will pass._ _So will his._

Because Ron's bound to be angry now, too. He got the shock and the sadness part out of his system last night - now, his upsetness is going to manifest in broody, moody anger, and _just_ when Harry had gotten him back to high spirits again.

Harry closes his eyes. He squeezes them shut and counts, quietly, for a bit, before he gathers his wits, squares his shoulders, and heads down into the common room.

* * *

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

This is Hogwarts. News and gossip travels fast.

"Did you hear?" Harry hears, as he walks down to the great hall for breakfast. "Weasley - Ron, that one - he's been..."

"Can't believe she'd do that, I mean - Well, they're..."

"Can't have been Hermione - I mean,  _come on,_ who'd do..."

"I can believe it," Harry hears, and he stops before he turns the corner because he recognises that voice.

"Well, of course,  _you_ can," He hears - Terry Boot, Harry thinks - in response. 

"Yeah, Mari's right. Granger can be  _very_ vengeful."

"Harry was there." Harry hears, and he winces because it's Cho, and she sounds sort of... shocked, maybe. Disbelieving and disappointed. 

"You were right to be worried, then," The other voice - not Terrance or Cho or Marrietta, says. "If he'll ditch you for her and won't even protect  _Ron bloody Weasley_ from her ire... well, that doesn't bode well, does it?"

"That's not..." Cho sighs. "It's more complicated than that."

"I bet he knew about the whole 'sneak' thing too," The voice carries on. "Come  _on._ It was his defence group, right? he called the shots."

"I don't think so," Cho says. "... I mean. Permanent scarring? Harry? Really?"

There's silence, for a moment. Harry, automatically, flattens his fringe down over his scar. 

"... Alright, yeah, probably not," Harry's starting to recognise the voice, a bit. He thinks he's a DA member, but he's not quite sure; Harry led the lessons, but he didn't exactly interact with everyone an equal amount, that just wouldn't have been possible. He'd focused on those that needed his help the most (and... well, and Cho) and so some of the other members, the ones that did really well, he hadn't actually spoken to, aside from the occasional encouragement or praise. Thinking a bit more, Harry realises he probably isn't. He  _does_ recognise the voice, though; not DA, but definitely someone he's heard around the castle. 

"So then she did it behind his back," Marrietta says. "Y'know, I'm starting to see who calls the shots here."

"You didn't think it was Granger in the first place?" Terry asks. 

"Why would I?" Marrietta asks. "Harry's - Harry Potter. And he's a leader; he did really well with the DA, so..." 

"He left our date because Hermione organised something for him without asking," Cho sighs. "And the spell on the signup parchment was her's."

"And now she's attacked  _Ron Weasley,_ who I might remind you was, in fourth year,  _the thing Harry Potter would miss most,_ so I'm just going to hazard a guess that  _that's_ changed."

"No kidding." Terrance snorts. 

"I don't think so," Cho says. "I mean, we never really got to know each other as well as I'd have liked," She admits, and Harry feels a pang of - something - "But... he's not one for conflict. Not - danger, just... people. He doesn't like it much when they fight, and that's just common knowledge."

"You should see his face when they get _really_ heated," The fourth voice says. "In the common room. Especially last year - got a little better after a point, not sure what was the deciding factor, but he didn't blow up at them as often, and not for them arguing. Uh, but as I was saying - before that? Yikes."

"He was hurt," Cho says, quietly. She sniffs, and Harry thinks she might start crying. "He just showed it differently than, say, I did."

"Crying's better than yelling at people," Terry says. "Let it out, get help, yadda yadda."

"If you think Harry Potter is well adjusted you haven't been paying attention the last five years," The fourth voice - male, Gryffindor, Harry knows who he is he just can't quite put his finger on it - says. 

"We don't all have the advantage of being in the same house as him, mate," Terry says. 

"Cho dated him."

"For a few weeks, really," Cho says. "We had  _one_ date."

"Shame," Marrietta says. "Pretty sure he really liked you."

"I was too," Cho says. 

"He likes Granger more," Terry says. "And Weasley, but that's redundant, you knew that."

"I knew that about both of them," Cho says. "I just thought we could... get to know each other better. Become proper friends while we dated, you know?"

Harry winces, again. 

"Here's a thought," The fourth voice says, "And you're not going to like it - but maybe you  _shouldn't_ have kissed under the mistletoe in front of a picture of Cedric, yeah?"

Cho laughs, wetly. 

Harry hears a smack and a yelp. "Hey," The fourth one complains. 

"Try to be tactful, please," Marrietta replies. 

"No, he's... probably right," Cho says. "We were both really torn up about it... I don't know. We have quidditch and - and Cedric and the DA in common, and that's -"

"Not the worst but not a good foundation," Terry says. "Mostly the Cedric part, I'll have to admit."

Cho sniffles. Harry hears Marietta sigh. 

"I thought we could help each other," Cho says. "Work through everything together, you know?" She's definitely crying, now, and Harry feels horrible; hearing this, listening in on their conversation. But he's stuck leaning against this wall because today he chose to take a long way around to the Great Hall, and... and it's a bit like a trainwreck. Looking away is hard; stopping eavesdropping when people are talking about you is  _difficult._

"He's an idiot, but we knew that," Terry says.

"Terry," Cho admonishes. "He's just..."

"Not well adjusted," The fourth voice says. 

There's another silence, and Harry takes the moment to quietly walk back to the beginning of the corridor, and then walks towards the corner louder, signalling his approach.

"- and I guess -" Harry rounds the corner.

" - Harry," Cho cuts herself off, interrupts what she was about to say to acknowledge him.

"... Cho," Harry says, belatedly, even though he'd expected to see her here. 

Ritchie Coote (who's voice Harry really should have recognised; what with him being a beater on the team this year, but then, Harry might have been a bit too distracted to put two and two together properly), Terrance Boot, Marrietta Edgecombe, and Cho Chang all stare back at him, as awkwardly as he looks at them. 

"Harry," Marietta says, cooly. Harry attempts not to wince too visibly. 

"What're you doing, Potter?" Terry Boot asks. Harry points down the corridor. "Great Hall," He says. 

"Bit of a treck from here," Ritchie says, amicably. 

"Thought I'd take the scenic route," Harry says. "It's a Sunday, don't have much to do, so..."

"It's good exercise," Cho says, "How - how have you been?"

"Alright," Harry says. "Uh, you?"

"C'mon, Terry," Ritchie mumbles. "See you later, captain," He adds, and he drags Terrance off down the corridor and around the corner. 

"I'm better," Cho smiles, a little, her voice still a little thick from crying. "Mum got enough money together to hire a therapist."

"That's good," Harry says. 

"He's helped a lot," Cho says. "Just being able to talk about everything. He's a squib, too, so he knows about all this," She gestures, generally - indicating magic, "So I don't have to watch what I say," Cho smiles again. 

Cho cries a lot, but so does Hermione. Neither of them are weak people, and Harry's glad, for Cho, that's she's found something that helps her. 

"Great," Harry replies.

"Eloquent," Marietta says, tone still cool. Harry can't fault her, exactly; sneak is still written across her face, and that won't ever go away. "Can I ask you something?" Marrietta asks.

"What?" Harry responds, warily.

"There's a lot of rumours," Marietta says. "The Vanes are good for that, as are a lot of people - but the usual suspects - Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil - they're silent. Which is interesting, because it means they're involved, somehow, and I  _know_ you are, so why not go to the source?" She asks, rhetorically. "So. My question; what  _really_ happened?"

"When?" Harry asks. "At the end of first year, second year, what happened in third year, after the tournament, or fifth year; do you want to know about what happened after we left the school - how about this year? I've got some stuff already."

"Don't be dense, Potter," Marietta says. "Last night. What happened?"

Harry hesitates. 

"Come on," Marietta wheedles. 

"No," Harry says, "No, that's not your story to know."

"Then who's is it?" Marietta asks. 

"Hermione's," Harry says. "Ron's. Lavender's, I guess. Mine, a bit."

"If you say so," Marietta says. "Fine, alright. Tell me something else. Something most people don't know."

"Why?" Harry asks. 

"Payment," She says. "For my  _face."_

"It's not my  _fault,"_ Harry says. "I didn't know," He continues. "I signed that parchment too, you know. Hermione never told us."

"Hmm." Marietta hums. "I figured, to be fair, but still. Hermione won't pay up - she hates me, still, remember?"

Harry does. He also, distinctly, remembers that Hermione would do it again in heartbeat. 

"Fine," Harry says. "Sure. What?"

"Oh, whatever you think is best," She smiles. Her eyebrows raise, a little, and that stretches the scarring. "Or are you worried you'll get in trouble?"

"We got in trouble," Harry says. "Then we got out of it."

"True," Marietta allows. "Okay. Go on, then."

"Alright," Harry sighs. "Alright, well..." Harry thinks of something he can tell her, something small and harmless. "Myrtle was murdered by the basilisk, the first time the chamber was opened. She saw who was controlling it - his name was Tom Riddle."

"Tom Riddle?" Marietta asks. Harry shrugs. "He's in the trophy room, or at least, he was, Dumbledore might have removed his trophy since then - but basically, he's the Heir of Slytherin. He was controlling a student, through a possession of his he'd left behind. His name was Tom Marvolo Riddle - there's an anagram."

"An anagram?" Marietta asks.

"Yeah," Harry said. "When I was in the chamber his ghost - he wrote out his name in the air and rearranged it."

"Oh, that spell," Marietta nods. "Let me try."

She takes out her wand, glances down the hallway each direction in case Mrs Norris is hanging around, and then, after saying the words, starts writing out Tom Marvolo Riddle in the air. "Alright," She says, once done, and rearranges them. Then again, because that was  _definitely_ not it, if hilarious, and then again, and again, and finally...

"Oh, Merlin," Cho says, staring. 

"Well, that can't be a coincidence, can it?" Marietta says. "Hmm."

"He's Voldemort," Harry says. "Tom Riddle is Voldemort."

"That's not nothing," Marietta says. "I expected like, a little anecdote, not... a huge revelation."

Harry shrugs. "It's an anecdote, really." He says. "It doesn't matter who he was, much. It helps to  _know,_ sure, because it's why he did a lot of what he did, but..." Harry shrugs again.

"Useful to know, definitely," Marietta says. "Thanks, Harry."

Harry shrugs again.

"See you around," Cho smiles, links arms with Marietta, and walks off.

Harry watches them (her; Cho) go, and then walks in the other direction, towards the Great Hall. 

* * *

 


	3. Chapter 3

Lavender sits beside Ron, in the Great Hall, the next morning. She holds, protectively, onto his mostly healed (but scarred,  _again)_ left arm, as she listens sympathetically to his complaining. 

"Come off it, Weasley," Andrew Kirke says. "Could be worse."

"Could be worse?" Lavender repeats. " _Could be worse?"_ She says, shrilly. "Andrew, Hermione  _attacked him!"_

Andrew winces and shrugs. 

"It's fine, Lav," Ron grumbles, as he viciously cuts up his sausages. 

"How do you even scar somebody's  _scars?"_ Seamus wonders. 

"No idea," Ron grumbles and stops himself from talking by eating the food he'd been attacking with vengeance. 

Lavender frowns, worriedly, and soothes a hand down his arm. _Definitely_ skip the 'reaffirm physical attraction' phase. 

"It's awful," Lavender complains sympathetically. "And I bet she's not going to get anything like  _consequences_ for it!"

"Lav," Ron sighs. "Leave it."

"Well, that's uncharacteristic," Seamus stares at Ron. "I mean, I get not punching back, but - nothing?"

"Shove off, Seamus," Ron grunts, and goes back to eating. 

Lavender glances at Parvati, who's worried for Ron for Lavender's sake, but also because he'd been attacked by a good friend. 

At that moment, the Great Hall's doors open. Harry enters, walks over to the table. Hermione's not here, thankfully, so Lavender doesn't have to worry about Harry picking the wrong side yet, and Harry walks over, sits in the open space opposite, by Dean. 

"Hey, Harry," Dean says. 

"Late up, aren't ya?" Seamus says. "Everyone's being strange today," He adds, shaking his head slightly. 

Harry's woken up stupidly early for as long as Lavender can remember. Whenever it's brought up, it's like a shadow crosses his face; some terrible emotion takes over, and Ron glares off into space, at least one fist clenched tight like he wants to punch something, or, more likely, some _one._

This is Hogwarts. Lavender knows gossip and knows rumours, and there are ones about Harry Potter that have nothing to do with Hogwarts or his other Adventures.

(Judging by the clothes he wears and some of the things Lavender has overheard, and the stuff he says without care... like its  _normal,_ Lavender knows his home life is nothing like what the books say.)

( _Not now,_ _Lavender.)_

 

"Hi, Harry!" Lavender chirps, smiling. Harry's Ron's best friend, and if you aren't able to be friends with your SO's friends, then you might as well not bother. 

Parvati is a special case, though. Ron and Harry don't have to get along with her and her sister, because they don't like Ron and Harry overmuch. Lavender thinks they had too many expectations for a bunch of  _boys._ If they'd wanted to dance, they should have dragged their date onto the dance floor as Lavender had done. He'd ended up having a good time, even if he hadn't wanted to dance originally.

But Lavender's a lot bolder about that sort of thing that the Patil twins, generally speaking. 

(Though, Lavender thinks that evening worked out for the best anyway. Parvati and Padma got to dance with some cool Durmstrang boys, and Lavender's little friend group had fun. Fourteen-year-old Harry Potter and Ron Weasley just didn't know what to do at parties, and Lavender never faulted them for that, though, it wasn't her place to not fault them, it was their dates. And their dates hadn't been happy.)

"Lavender," Harry greets. He puts food on his plate and eats mechanically. 

There's silence, for a bit, as they eat - the oppressive sort. Harry's looking anywhere but at Ron's arms and Ron's attacking his plate, and Hermione's nowhere to be found. The rest of the house who haven't eaten yet all trickle in at varying points. When Ginny arrives, she makes a beeline for them. 

"Can I talk to you?" She asks Ron. "Out there?" She points.

"... Sure," Ron says, and stands. Lavender reluctantly releases his arm, and they all watch the siblings leave the Great Hall.

"What happened, exactly?" Andrew asks. "Lavender wasn't in the room and Ron's not talking."

"Not mine to tell," Harry says, stands, and leaves. 

"You're useless," Lavender says. "You don't just  _ask_ like that if you want to know things."

"Eh?" He frowns at her.

"For one, you don't know each other well enough," Lavender says. "Information requires  _trust._ And this isn't some gossip, either, this is  _serious._ She  _really hurt him."_

"It can't have been  _that_ bad," Andrew says, uncomfortable.

"Mate," Dean says, "He's got  _scars."_

Andrew winces. 

"I'm not exactly happy with him," Dean says, "I'll admit that, but that doesn't mean anything right now. He can be angry that I'm dating his sister all he likes, I'm still going to say what Hermione did was wrong."

"Angry at _you_? Man, he's an arse, sometimes," Andrew says. 

"We all are," Seamus replies. "I don't remember your name on the DA sheet last year."

Andrew winces. 

"Look," Parvati says. "Whatever's happened, someone got hurt," She frowns. "I'd tell someone, McGonagall, maybe, but I don't have proof and Ron'd deny it."

"Wait, what?" Andrew blinks at her. 

"Hermione attacked him," Parvati says. "We don't know why. I don't particularly care. At the very least, her Prefect status should be revoked."

Lavender blinks then smiles only slightly as she sighs. "No proof," She reminds Parvati, sadly.

"Why Granger's got Prefect I'll never know," Parvati grumbles. "Like sure, whatever, perfect -  _better than perfect_ grades. But she's also  _broken the law."_

"To help people," Dean reminds her. 

Parvati sighs, "I know," she says. "But not this time."

"This time?"

"Assault," Parvati says. "She  _attacked him._ He's got  _scars._ That's broken some law, somewhere, surely?"

Lavender frowns, troubled. She watches the door, for a bit, but nobody enters. The conversation's over and she's full, so Lavender sighs and stands. "I have an essay to do," She says, glumly. She  _hates_ potions essays. 

"Me too," Parvati stands, brushes off her robe. "Come on. Let's go to the common room."

* * *

 

"What d'you want?" Ron asks Ginny, once they're sequestered away in one of the side rooms. "To know what happened," Ginny says. "To get the bigger picture."

"What's there to say?" Ron asks, angrily. "Lavender kissed me, we left the common room, we looked for somewhere more private and ended up finding Hermione, Harry, and some canaries Hermione'd conjured. Lavender left, I stayed, some words were said and Hermione sent her birds after me. I left. That's  _it."_

"That can't be  _it,"_ Ginny says. "Why would she just -  _attack_ you?"

"I don't know," Ron says. 

"I mean, she likes you," Ginny barrels on, "But that doesn't mean she can -"

"Likes me?" Ron interrupts, incredulous. "We talking about the same Hermione, here?"

"There's only one in the entire school," Ginny says, exasperated, "So  _yes._ She  _likes_ you, you  _dolt._ But it doesn't mean - why would she attack you?"

"Hermione doesn't -" Ron shakes his head. "And - who knows? She's like that."

"She's like that?" Ginny echoes. "What?"

"You know," Ron gestures, vaguely. "Brilliant. Scary."

"No, I don't know," Ginny replies. "Extrapolate."

"Smart," Ron says, slowly, like she isn't that for not getting it. "Scary. Doesn't usually attack us though, granted."

"Merlin's -" Ginny shakes her head. 

"Bloody hell, Ginny, it's not that hard," Ron says, angry again. "Sometimes when people argue it isn't just for  _fun,_ y'know."

"You haven't been arguing, though," Ginny says. 

"Yeah, we have," Ron says. "Sort of."

"Sort of?" Ginny asks.

"Well, I've ignored her." Ron says, uncomfortable. 

"Why on  _earth..._ " Ginny trails off. "Oh."

"Yeah,  _oh,"_ Ron glowers. 

"I didn't know you didn't know," Ginny says. "That they'd - I mean, they went to the Yule ball together, she was his 'most missed' person, they were dating - I just thought you knew, y'know... that you were jealous for - not having kissed anyone yourself."

Ron's ears burned red. 

"She hid it," Ron says. "That they were  _together._ Said they were friends - only exchanged letters."

"Friends?" Ginny asks. "Why would she -"

"Just friends," Ron confirms. "I don't know why."

"... I'm sorry," Ginny says, awkwardly. "That's not - I mean, it was ages ago and they're not together now, but, I shouldn't have said it like that. That's not how you should have found out."

"It doesn't matter," Ron says, uncomfortable. 

"It does though," Ginny insists. "Y'know I don't - it's just funny when you lot - you know, all my older brothers have some minor misfortune but I don't - it's not funny if you're really hurt, you know that right? I wish you weren't such an arse about some stuff but you're my brother and it's not nice when family is  _really_ hurt." 

"... I'm sorry about... what I said," Ron says, awkwardly. "Dean's - much better than Michael Corner." His lips twitch, and Ginny snorts. 

"Don't I know it," She grins. "I'm sorry." She says, again, sobering up a bit.

"Yeah," Ron says. "Me too."

Ginny punches him - very lightly - in the shoulder, and gestures behind herself. "Come on," She says. "Let's find Harry."

"Why?" Ron asks.

"I'll tell you when we see him," Ginny says, promptly, and leaves the room.

* * *

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if this were a post on tumblr i'd tag this fic 'anti jake rolling' and nobody could stop me
> 
> Also Marietta was pressed into a corner you can't convince me otherwise, I will never hate her and she didn't deserve her lot

Harry wanders the corridors after he leaves the Great Hall, not wanting to go looking for anyone or anything at this moment; he's... thinking, he figures. He figures you'd call it that, anyway, if loosely; he's thinking about what happened while trying to avoid really registering what Hermione _did,_ because - because -

He just _can't._ He feels horrible for it, but he can't. Harry finds himself on the seventh floor, and interestingly the room is in use; the door is there, but it's one he doesn't recognise as the DA room's door.

Harry enters, cautiously. The room is, well, a _library,_ so Harry immediately knows who's using it.

Harry doesn't really feel safe in the room anymore, not after Umbridge broke in, so he makes his way quickly through the shelves towards the back. He finds Hermione down an aisle, sitting at a table. She's writing something, he thinks - probably doing homework, because she's, well, Hermione, and his gut twists uncomfortably; the sight is so _Hermione,_ and it makes him feel fond, for a moment, of his friend, but then he remembers the look on her face when she'd sent the birds at Ron, and there's a hollow sort of feeling beside the fondness for the bushy-haired brunette; something cool, cold, something closed-off and resigned.

It's a similar sort of feeling that settles in during the last days of school. Before he has to go to Surrey again.

Harry walks over, determinedly, because if he can face down the monster that killed his parents without flinching he can sit next to his good friend, _christ,_ and pulls out a chair. Her head snaps up from her work at the sound, and Harry resolutely _does not flinch,_ as he sits down.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione smiles distractedly at him. 

"Have you eaten today?" Harry asks.

"Oh - yes of course, very early though," She says, as she looks back down at her work. "The Hall was practically empty - could you pass that book, please?" She asks, and he does, automatically. She takes it, distractedly, and flicks through it for whatever information she needs. Hermione glances over the passage once, then writes out a whole paragraph and starts extracting the information and making connnections and deductions, adding another few inches of small, cramped but neatly printed text to the essay in the process. She huffs when she reaches the bottom of the roll of parchment and pulls another out her bag, from a seemingly endless supply. 

"Have you done your potions essay yet?" She asks. Harry nods. Hermione frowns, dissaprovingly at him, as she unfurls the roll of parchment onto the table, weighs it down with a wooden paperweight to keep it flat. "I assume you used the book?" She asks.

Harry sighs, mentally.

"Yeah," Harry says. "It's useful, Hermione. If the info's better in it, why _shouldn't_ I use it?"

She sighs, longsufferingly. "It's _cheating,_ " She snaps.

"It's _not,"_ Harry says. "Or are tutors cheating? Asking teachers for extra info? Reading surrounding material? Having an older sibling help you out? A parent? People learn from other people, Hermione."

She huffs. "You aren't working out the answers," She says. "They're given to you. You don't have to _think."_

Harry picks up the book she was using. "This," He taps the paragraph she used, "Is just stating that two ingredients when mixed together blow up. You're not finding that out yourself, are you?"

Hermione huffs again and snatches the book back. Harry lets her, drops his hands onto the table and waits.

"It's cheating," She says, again. "Nobody else can get that information."

"Yeah they can," Harry says. "Just cast gemino on the book and read it yourself."

Hermione's jaw works from side to side in annoyance, and she doesn't respond. She looks down at her parchment, and continues writing her essay on the new roll.

"If you're going to stay here," Hermione says, "Do you have any other work to do? Maybe I should take a look at your essay - there's usually a few spelling and grammar errors at least, even if the book 'helps' you in other aspects..."

Harry sighs, not mentally. Hermione stops talking, and frowns lightly at him. She searches his expression, and seems to find something. "Is something wrong, Harry?" She asks, concern etched into her features - set as comfortably on her face as the fury from the other night had been.

 _Oh, nothing,_ Harry thinks. _You just attacked my best friend, and I'm wondering_ \- very, very privately - _what it would take for you to attack me, too._

"No," Harry lies. "Nothing."

Harry smiles, to alieviate suspicion, then stands. "I didn't bring anything," Harry says, because, well, he's finished his work - unlike Hermione, he doesn't drag out his essays any longer than absultely required - and needs something to do if he's staying. "So I guess I'll just find something to read."

Hermione smiles brightly. "That's great!" She says, enthusiastically, and gestures for him to go do so. "I'll be here, so take your time," She adds, then returns to her work.

"Sure," Harry says, aimiably, because he intends to.

When Harry returns - he's found a book on Quidditch he hadn't heard of before, and it's quite old; there's some moves and things in there that have fallen out of fashion with the advent of faster brooms and new rules, but some of them could still be useful at least in training sessions - and Hermione sighs dissaprovingly. "There are other subjects, you know," She says, and Harry feels a twinge of annoyance, but ignores it.

"And it's a Sunday," Harry says. "Also, I'm captain, remember? I'm no Oliver Wood, but I do need to know what I'm doing."

"True," Hermione says. "Don't let it take over too much, though, your studies are still far more important - especially since you want to be an auror."

"I know, Hermione," Harry says, and he can't help the tinge of frustration in his tone. Harry and Hermione quite honestly don't spend that much time alone together - and that's on purpose, Harry will admit. When they do its either in silence in the library or doing work or trying to chat, but ending up with Harry getting increasingly more agitated at her nagging.

Hermione looks up from her parchment. She's onto another roll, maybe even onto the one after the one after the one she'd been using when he'd left. "I'm sorry," She sighs. "I'm just - not in the best mood."

 _No kidding,_ Harry thinks.

"It's fine," Harry says, and sits down.

Hermione smiles at him. "How was your morning, anyway?"

"Nothing really happened," Harry says, "I had breakfast, left the hall and wandered around. Found myself here, saw someone was using the room and -"

"Got curious," Hermione finishes, laughing lightly. Harry smiles somewhat, in response. "Of course," She shakes her head, fondly. "Alright, well, I'm almost done," She says.

"Good," Harry says. "With the first draft," Hermione continues, narrowing her eyes at him slightly. "We should go to the common room - I left a book I desperately need to add to my argument - it's not backed-up with enough references just yet, i should add a few more quotes - and we need to go over your essays."

"Do we?" Harry asks, amusedly.

Hermione nods, decidedly. Harry goes along with it - like he goes along with what his Aunt Petunia asks of him, but he doesn't think on that long at all, because he doesn't want to think about anything related to that, especially not right now - and the two leave the Room, and make their way across the seventh floor to the common room.

* * *

Harry sits by the fire and reads the Quidditch book (the book was at least as old as the new spelling of the sport's name, and the well-worn cover had not been attached to the book at all - so Harry just took the bound pages and borrowed a different book's sleeve - but what that means, is, basically, that Harry doesn't know the title of the book) while Hermione works on her second draft over on one of the tables. The portrait swings open, and through it steps Ginny - 

And Ron.

Harry's eyes flick between Hermione and Ron, and he tenses, subconsciously preparing himself for any fight that might occur. Harry swings his legs off the couch and sits up a little straighter, a little more ready to move if need be, and disguises this as moving into a position where he can more easily see and talk to Ron and Ginny.

"Hey," Harry greets them.

"Where've you been all day?" Ginny demands, shoving Ron - lightly, Harry notes - towards the couch as she drops onto the armchair. Harry automaticaly moves to give Ron ample space to sit, and shrugs. "Found this in the room," Harry gestures. "Old Quidditch book. I've been thinking on some training exercises we could do."

"'Bout time," Ginny says, pointedly and good-naturedly, "Can't rely on previous Captain's work forever."

Harry nods, and lowers the book. "So, where've you been, then?" He asks.

"Looking for you," Ron says, and Harry glances at him, careful to keep his eyes above shoulder-level. He already felt horribly guilty about the scars Ron had, from the DOM brain monsters, so he was used to this - but that guilt had been fading, at least a bit, and... and now it was back, because Harry stood there like a fucking lemon while the birds clawed at Ron's skin, pecked his arms full of little holes and generally terrorized him at Hermione's command.

(Harry flinched, mentally. _Hermione's command.)_

"Oh," Harry says. "Well, I'm here."

"Let's go somewhere more private, yeah?" Ginny says, eyeing Hermione dangerously. Hermione's not paying attention to them, even though from this distance she can most certainly hear them - she's furiously scribbling her essay onto her parchment and her eyes are glued steadfastly onto the words she's writing.

"Alright," Harry says, quickly, and stands, because he'd rather everyone not fight.

The three make their way out of the common room - Harry can feel various stares boring into the back of his head, but when he looks back he only catches the swing of bushy hair as Hermione focuses back onto her work before he leaves Gryffindor Tower. The portrait closes and they walk down the corridor. They walk far enough for Harry to realise they're going to the Room, and he waits patiently once they arrive their and ginny paces in front of the wall. A plain, simple door materialises and the three enter - once the door shuts, it disappears.

"Um," Harry says.

"For safety," Ginny explains. "And because we're not leaving until we finish talking."

"Alright," Harry replies.

There's a pause, a moment of silence, then Ginny sighs explosively.

"Alright, fine, not my job, but someone has to," She grumbles. "Why didn't you do anything?" She asks, and Harry knows what she means. "Ginny -" Ron starts, but Harry ignores him. He should have done _something,_ Harry knows; objectively, doing nothing doesn't make any sense at all - Ron's his best mate, and Harry's usually pretty decent at not letting people hurt the people he cares about if he can do anything about it.

He feels a twinge at the reminder that he couldn't, not really, last year - which only makes him feel worse about this.

"I should have," Harry says, and Ron shuts up.

"Damn _right_ you should have," Ginny says, "But that's not what I asked."

It's not. Harry sighs, mentally.

 _it's complicated,_ he thinks. _And if I think about why it's complicated and why I can't answer what you're asking, I'm going to see more parallels than I'd like._

Ginny makes a sound of pure frustration. "Harry _please,"_ She says. "I'm not - judging you, I promise. Sure. I'm angry you didn't do anything, I'm not going to say I'm not. _But that doesn't mean I don't get it."_

Harry frowns. Ron winces.

Harry thinks about how much more the Weasleys know than he'd like them to, and winces, too.

Ginny's expression softens. "Hermione - Hermione can't just... do that without some sort of reprimand. You get that, right?"

Harry hesitates. Because he doesn't, not really.

Nobody in Surrey ever did anything, after all. Not about Dudley, not about Uncle Vernon. And most _certainly_ not about Aunt Petunia.

But Harry nods, anway, because - she's right, really. People shoudn't be able to just - attack others without consequence.

"Great." Ginny says. "We're going to tell Professor McGonagall."

"No we _aren't,"_ Ron denies, standing up straighter. "What are you, mad?"

"Of course we are - someone in charge has to know -"

"... She wouldn't believe us anyway," Harry hears himself saying.

Adults never do.

"We don't have proof," Harry says.

"Hermione's proficency with conjouration is well documented, Ron's arms are a mess, and _you're_ vouching for it being true - I can't see any reason she wouldn't believe us."

"We're not doing that," Ron says, firmly. "We're _not."_

"Why not?" GInny demands, exasperated. 

Ron doesn't answer.

Ginny makes an angry, frustrated, annoyed noise, and the door materialises. "Fine," She says. "But I'm telling mum."

"No you-"

Ginny flees the room, and the door dissapears. Ron bangs into the stone and curses at it, as Harry winces.

Ron glares at the wall, and the door shimmers, but doesn't appear. Harry thinks, very clearly, _I don't want an exit._

Ron slams the palm of his hand onto the wood-stone and gives up, turns around and rounds on Harry. "Let it make one," He demands, pointing at the wall. "We're the only two people here - let it make the bloody door, Harry."

"She's right," Harry says. "Ginny's right. Someone should know."

"Not mum," Ron says. _"Anyone else."_

" _Especially_ your mum," Harry says, angrily. "Hell, your dad, too!"

"It's not that bad!" Ron retorts, "She was a little angry, so _fucking_ what? I was angry too! And," Ron adds, before Harry can say anything, "If I'm supposed to go running home whenver someone chucks something at me, should I have gone crying to mum when you threw a badge at my head, huh? Whenever a bludger's aimed in my direction? After _anything_ that's happened the last six years?"

"YES!" Harry shouts back. "BECAUSE YOU HAVE PEOPLE TO GO TO!"

Ron blinks at him. Harry breathes heavily. " _You have people to go to,"_ Harry hisses out between clenched teeth. "You have a _family_ that can _help_ you. Some of us don't get that luxury."

Harry lets the door appear. "Go on," Harry says, meanly. "Be a _coward."_

Ron glares, and leaves, and once he's gone the door disappears with him, and Harry sucks in a sharp, painful breath - then laughs, desperately, because he hasn't cried in _years._ He's not going to start _now._

_(It probably sounds like crying, anyway - but he's alone here and there aren't any tears so it doesn't **fucking** count.)_

Harry changes the room to the DA's chamber, once he's scraped himself together again, and requests some breakable targets, because he's never really as together about this sort of thing as he'd like to pretend.

* * *

 

Ron can't shadow Ginny forever, obviously, and he knows that, but he _can_ send the letter himself - and in that can play it down and make it seem less like the actual _assault_ it was, so Ginny writes the letter and sneaks out after dark that very night. If he sent his off with Errol, her's is sure to arrive first. She sneaks past the lower years' dorms and down the stairs, out the portrait and through the school. Last year, she'd learnt loads of passages, needing to keep out of the way of the Inquisitorial Squad and Filch while Umbridge and the rest were trying to find the DA's meeting place, and she used those now to get down and out - she sneaks out of the school via the first years' entrance, and it's the long way around to the Owlery from the Boathouse but it's a darker less travelled path, so she's less likely to be caught. Ginny makes her way over, and enters the Owlery. It's dark, but she doesn't risk casting Nox, just checks to see if Erroll is here. He _is,_ so that might mean Ron hasn't sent off a letter or sent it off with Pigwidgeon, in which case it can't be more than a short note, which is certainly not enough for a true recap of the events.

Ginny sighs, and attaches her letter to Errol. It's a shame, a little, that she has to use the old bird; her letter won't get there any time soon, and -

Floo.

Ginny frowns as Erroll flies off. She could ask -

Hmm. It's a thought.

* * *

Marietta brushes her hair away from her face and scowls through the glass at the trophy near the back.

 _Tom Riddle,_ she reads, and sighs.

Special Award for Services to the School. The same one Harry and Ron got - their trophies, which they probably don't realise exist, are in a cabinet for the school year of '92.

Marietta takes out her notebook and writes down what the trophy says. She frowns and taps her quill to her lip in thought.

Riddle's not a pureblood name, she thinks. She _knows_ this; Marietta has read Nature's Nobility, as useless as the book is. No Riddle was ever named - not once. The Gaunts, who were descendents from Slytherin, stopped at Morfin and Merope.

Marietta narrows her eyes.

Merope. That would make sense, wouldn't it? Merope married and had a kid with a muggle, or maybe just had a kid with a muggle - either way, she had a kid with a muggle and that kid was named after her dad, Marvolo. And the Kid's dad - _Tom Riddle._ Tom wouldn't make much sense back then - especially not for the name of a person a Blood Purist had any interest in; if they were going to 'lower' themselves to having a child with a muggle, that muggle must be rich or aristocracy. So It's probably Thomas, If Marrietta's thinking on the right track - so she'd be looking for a Thomas Riddle in the last known place of residence of the Gaunts, which was Little Hangleton, and she'd be looking for one that was alive in the 1920s - Merope died late that decade, but she'd only been young - it could have been a short lifespan due to illness or incest, Marietta thinks, but it makes more sense for her weak, incest-born body to have died from _childbirth._

Okay. So Marietta needs the _muggle_ records. That's not going to be easy.

But she has somewhere to start.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jo rowling can catch these hands she's not ruining any more of my children she is nOT, let's discuss how bad she is i'm @cescalr on tumblr (lol i'm so uncreative for a fanfic writer alkhg;'ag) and @lazilysparklytrash is my sideblog of sorts that's more HP (and ron) focused than @cescalr , which is everything but the majority is Teen Wolf.... i'm trash for trash things written by trash people that trash their characters and their chars relationships apparently but we been knew that by now
> 
> update: Just fixed a broken sentence


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As she speaks, his eyes stop twinkling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyyyyyyy this took this long bc I updated a few other fics in the meantime whoop

Pig is gone from the dorm when Harry wakes up the next morning, along with his owner.

Along with his owner.

Harry gets ready for the day, slowly. He's always woken up early, thanks to dear old Aunt Petunia, since Harry had to get the house ready every morning for when Uncle Vernon would wake up and demand breakfast - half the time Harry would be forced to make it, the other half of the time Aunt Petunia would degin herself to cooking up some bacon. Those times were when Harry was  _really_ busy; when she wanted the front garden replanted, when she wanted the garage repainted, when she wanted the house in it's entirety - except her room and Dudley's room - tidied. 

Because, you know, he might set something on fire, or deliberately break the furniture. Nevermind that that would _actually_ get him killed; Aunt Petunia had always been of the opinion that Harry was some sort of psycho murderer in the making, or something.

So yes. Harry gets dressed really very slowly, because it's around six in the morning and he doesn't want to wake Seamus, Dean and Neville for another couple hours yet.

The thing is. Harry hasn't woken up at six since second year. Not at Hogwarts. He feels safe here, his sleep is - resful, unlike in Surrey, and generally he wakes around seven, because of Hermione and her _wonderful_ habit of barging in on their dorm room half an hour before breakfast starts.

Without really meaning to, Harry thinks, _oh look. Another parallel._

Harry grimaces, ties his shoelaces and leaves the dorm room.

* * *

Marietta can't get ahold of the muggle records until Christmas; her mother is far, far too busy trying to keep her head above water and Marietta will  _not_ bother her under any circumstances. Them having money and a place to live is much more important than Marietta's curiosity, even if the information she's gathering is... well, is as important as the  _origins of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._

Tom Riddle. Marietta's calling him Tommy in her notes, as a sort of code. Just in case. 

But. Though she can't get the muggle records just yet - she _can_ find the Magical ones. The library has a good backlog of prophets, pretty much all the ones which mention Hogwarts' students - and all the ones from the wars; all _three_ of them - so she can get to work, at the very least, on writing up a timeline of Tommy's rise to power, as it were.

After her DADA essay, of course. Luckily, she was a DA member and has been a student of Snape's for six years, now - so she should get that done to his unfortunate standards. Maybe she'll even get an A from him; that'd be a novelty. 

* * *

 

Ginny really wants to punch Hermione Granger. This is a feeling she's had since The Canaries, frankly.

Ginny almost wishes she hadn't taken the girl's advice, if only to spite her. Still, that was before. Ginny doesn't mind her boyfriend, and, frankly, that probably means she should break up with him. It's not fair to him, really; just _not minding_ him rather than _liking_ him.

Maybe Hermione's methods don't work for Ginny. Maybe her methods when it comes to romance don't work _at all,_ but what does Ginny know.

What was it that Bill called it, once?

_Rebound._

Ginny sighs. Getting over her crush on Harry is harder than she'd thought it would be. She's over the hero-worship part by now, but that's mostly because she's known him for so long. That had faded pretty much by the end of her third year, and she'd been able to ignore it by the end of her second. It helped that they hadn't talked since the Chamber. Even if she'd thought they probably should have.

Well. Anyway.

Ginny glares holes into the back of Hermione's head at breakfast. She wants to punch her, but that'd probably get Ginny detention, and - well. Even if the toad's gone, last year made her sufficently wary of those, to say the least.

Ginny's very familiar with trauma. They couldn't affoard a mind healer, or whatever, so she's _particularly_ familiar with fixing her own _herself._ She'll deal with that hangup, properly, but not right now, because right now she really wants to punch Hermione Granger.

You don't do that shit. You don't do that to _your friends._ And most _certainly_ not to the people you _like._

Ginny's not stupid. And she was fine with Hermione liking her brother because she's not the boss of him he can do what he likes, but Ginny is his sister, and though she's not the sort to do a shovel speech - or tolerate them towards her own boyfriends, thank you very much - she really wants to just stand between Hermione and her brother and say _no. I'm not letting you hurt him._

Charlie's Ginny's favourite brother - in terms of the sort of thing she looks up to, the kind of dedication she aspires to have. _Ron_ 's the one she's _closest_ to, in terms of age, and understanding, and friendship. 

(Percy's a prat and she's still, maybe, a lot annoyed about her first year and his dismissal - and Fred and George are obnoxious half the time, cruel some of the time, and surprisingly kind the rest, so she's not sure what to make of them other than that she loves them, despite all that confusion, _because they're her brothers_ , and Bill - Bill's great, but he left either before she was born or way too early for her to remember. Bill's the one she's around the least, which, in turn, makes him the coolest.)

Hermione gets up from the table, nose still buried in her book. Harry isn't here and Ron isn't here, which is why it's not been pushed away from her face so she can focus on walking without bumping into anyone or tripping up over anything. Ginny stands, and walks after her out of the Great Hall, then catches up to her, walks astride her for a minute before she grunts in annoyance and gets a minor flinch and glance in response.

Oh, so she's being _ignored now,_ is she?

"Hermione," Ginny greets.

"Ginny," Hermione says in response. "... How - are you?" She asks.

"Oh, you know." Ginny says, then harsher; " _You know."_

Hermione winces, a little. She swallows, stops walking, and Ginny turns to face her head on. 

"Why'd you do it?" Ginny asks, because even if she _thinks_ she knows the answer it's always a good idea to get the perspective of the person who did the thing, just in case.

It can be very enlightening.

"I..."

"Well?" Ginny demands. "Spit it out."

"I - I wasn't really thinking," Hermione says. Ginny _really_ wants to punch her, but she supposes at least the attack wasn't planned out beforehand.

"And?" Ginny raises an eyebrow at the _prefect._

"I..." Hermione hesitates. Ginny waits her out.

"I," Hermione repeats herself, again, and Ginny's fuse is short on a good day. "Well?" She demands, again, dangerously. " _Why did you do it?"_

Hermione _flinches,_ like she's the victim here. "I - I don't know," Hermione says, in a very small voice, like she knows what she just said was very, very stupid. "I - I was jealous. I suppose."

_I suppose._

Ginny punches her in the face. Right on the bridge of the nose, like Charlie taught her, fist held in the proper way, a proper punch, and the girl - as surprised as she is - goes down like a broken broom.

"Shit," Ginny says, because she'd been trying very hard not to do that. Now Hermione's the victim and Ginny's in the wrong, which is just _unfair._

It's around the time most people start going down for breakfast, and the hallway isn't empty anymore. 

Ginny just punched Hermione Granger in full view of the student body.

"Shit," Ginny repeats. She's so _fucked._

* * *

Ginny Weasley punched Hermione Granger _in the face._

"Right slap bang in the centre!" Terrance crows, leaning back onto the couch in the Ravenclaw common room. A smile plays at Marrietta's mouth. She's leaning on her hand as she reads through a copy of the prophet from the mid 1940s, and the scars on her face are rough under her fingers. 

"Why the hell'd she do that?" Lisa is on the armchair, frowning in confusion. Terrance is taking up the entirety of the couch, because he's an arsehole, but also one of the only arsehole ravenclaws that actually _works out,_ like, _properly._ If he commanders a chair you are not moving him, no matter how annoying he gets.

Even the other beater can't shift him.

"Because Granger's a c-"

"Terry!" Lisa cuts him off. "She's not."

"High strung, off her rockers, whatever," Terry rolls his eyes.

"She's not a cunt," Marietta says, despite Lisa's gasp. "She's just a bit of a prick. Never thought she'd hurt Ron, though."

Hey, word travels fast. And Marietta's not _stupid._ Lavender Brown keeps eyeing Granger like she wants to tear her skin off, which is... a lot, Harry Potter looks half ready to bolt and way, way _too_ calm at random intervals, Ron Weasley is steadfastly ignoring Granger, and, finally, _Ginny Weasley punched Hermione Granger in the **face.**_

Ginny's got a temper, but she's a good judge of character, from what Marrietta remembers of her from the DA meetings. Granted that's not much, but, frankly, Ginny never struck (haha) Marietta as someone who'd punch someone else for no good reason. She's got a short temper, that's for sure, but only when in regards to things and people she's not happy with. Like Malfoy, or the other purists, the classist arseholes and the general gits. And Snape.

"She's really very nice," Lisa says. "She doesn't hesitate to help you out if you ask for homework aid. I couldn't for the life of me figure out that charms essay last week, but she went over it and explained where I was going wrong."

"That's because Granger loves her schoolwork," Terrance says. "A bit too much, really."

Marietta doesn't like Terrance Boot, but there are some places in which they have common ground; Hermione Granger, the importance of the free press (aka, alternatives to the ministry-funded Daily Prophet), and, of course, that sugar quills and acid pops are the superior honeydukes treats.

Lisa frowns. "I just don't believe it," She says. "I mean, they argue a lot," She adds, frown deepening, "But - she just... none of them are the type to hurt their friends."

"Hermione Granger isn't very open-minded," A voice breezes past, and, ah. Luna Lovegood. The girl sits upside down on the other armchair, stares at the ceiling with those big, strange eyes as she speaks. "She can be very mean, you know. Ronald can be a bit cruel and Harry Potter isn't very good at life situations that don't involve immenant threat." She blinks, owlishly. "They're people, like you and me, and they're as susceptible to nargles and wrackspurts as anyone else."

She stares up at the ceiling some more, before she continues. "They're my friends," She says, as if that's a novel idea, a strange, incomprehensible thought. _Loony Lovegood,_ Marietta remembers - she knows the girl that came up with it.

Marietta hadn't said anything then, uncomfortable. She winces, now.

"They're good people," Luna says, airily. "Mostly. Like you, Marietta, Lisa, Terrance. Like me."

Marietta looks back down at her copy of the prophet from 1945.

 _Mostly._ Marrietta is trying - she couldn't keep mum on the DA, and that was a fact - the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people and the wrong life situation and fear and a lack of real understanding all add up - but.

If keeping her mouth shut doesn't work (at this thought, her forehead twinges) then.

Why not blow it all wide open?

The more people that know about Tom Riddle, the more people know about the truth of how he got where he did - the better off they'll be now he's back, Marietta knows. You don't slam the doors shut on history. You read it. You absorb it. And you don't let it happen again.

* * *

 

Molly Weasley gets the letter at 10:00 in the morning. A letter, rather, because she gets a follow up a few hours later, at 1:00 pm.

13:00, if you go by the 24 hour clock, and if you do that - well. 13 is not a particularly _good_ number.

The first letter hadn't bothered her much. With the new one in mind, reading it back over is - humbling.

When did her little boy get so good at _lying?_

Molly reads through Ginny's letter again, her other hand clenched tightly around the edge of the table. She might fall over otherwise, overwhelmed with horror and confusion and fear. 

Is her boy okay? Is her Ronnie safe?

He's sixteen, she reminds herself. He hasn't been Ronnie in _years_.

Of course he has, she retorts. _He's her son._

Molly lowers herself into a chair and re-reads the letter, just to make sure (for the fifth, sixth time) that she wasn't mistaken.

_he'll likely want to make it seem better than it is_

_you know Ron. He doesn't like making people worry_

_I can't believe - well, no, I can, I think, and isn't that the problem?_

_she hurt him, mum, she really did_

_who betrays their friend like that,_

_I really hate her mum_

_she could have really hurt him, like, really, **really** hurt him_

_canaries, mum, little golden birds with sharp -_

Molly breathes, in, and out. 

_Mum,_

_please, sit down first. But... knowing Ron - he doesn't like making people worry, and I know...well, he'll likely want to make it seem better than it is. Like she didn't - like she didn't hurt him. So I'm going to have to tell you._

_She really, really hurt him, mum._

_Hermione..._

_I don't know how to put this. I don't - I don't want **you** to - hurt, but you need to know because Ron's hurt and - she hurt him, mum, she really did - I mean, who betrays their friend like that, and I really - I know I'm not making much sense and my handwriting's atrocious but it's late and I found out so recently and I really hate her, mum, I do, and - I'm sorry about the ink blots, my hand's shaking - and I, Merlin, mum, she could have really hurt him, like, really **really** hurt him, more than she did, I think - I don't know, but, canaries, mum, little golden birds with sharp - **Merlin,** everything, and his arms are a mess and they'd_ _**just** healed up and we still don't really know what those brains did so I don't know how bad it is for him to get injured there and I'm - ~~mum, I'm~~_

_I'm really worried. ~~I don't~~ \- I **hate** feeling like this, I feel useless because it's already happened and I guess I'm only telling you how I feel because I'm tired and I'm rusing this letter because I just **know** he's going to send you one and downplay everything and I really don't want him to because she shouldn't be able to get away with it _

_Mum, Hermione attacked Ron._

_~~(I'm sorry but)~~ Morgana, ~~I just. I can't~~ -  **mum.** Hermione attacked Ron. _

_Hermione. **Ron.**_

_~~I don't~~ \- I've been trying to put it all together in my head but I've just been getting angrier and angrier and I don't want to do anything I'd regret but  
_

_who betrays their friend like that, who does that? ~~That's just~~ \- I can't wrap my head around it. It's what's making me angriest, I think. _

_But the thing I think the most and the whole point of this ~~(sorry, mum) fucking~~ letter is that I needed to tell you because you needed to know and Dad needs to know too and I need you to tell him because I don't know how to put any of this _

_~~I just. I'm going to make sure it doesn't happen again.~~ _

_Please, just. Tell dad, ~~and~~ and come here, okay? _

_\- Ginny._

Molly reads her boy's letter, compares them. Ginny's right, of course. He plays it down, doesn't give details, makes it sound much more like an accident than anything else -but, but with this insight, with Ginny's rambling words of concern and - a whole heapload of other, worrying emotions, because Molly knows what Ginny's angry writing looks like and it looks like that but - _worse,_ and Molly doesn't want her daughter in trouble for - well, anything, but certainly not for anything done out of -

Molly can't wait, she knows, for her husband to come home from work - but, equally, she can't just leave a note. She needs the letters, needs them for - evidence, and...

She seemed - no, Molly's _known her_ to be such a nice girl. Sweet in her own way.

Molly's had that girl in her _house._ In the same room as her _daughter._ The girl that hurt her _son._

 _Well._  That won't be happening again. 

Molly geminos the letters, leaves them on the table right where Arthur will see them, because right now she has two options, and really of them only one.

Molly floos the headmaster's office.

* * *

Ginny wakes up in the hospital wing with a _very_ dissaproving Madam Pomfrey glaring at her.

"Up, girl," The witch says. "You'll be fine. A stunner on it's own is nothing, but you hit your head on the floor - stone," The matron clicked her tounge unhappily. "The floors should have cushioning charms on them. _Stone,_ who thought that was a good idea with _children_ about..." She mumbles to herself as she serves Ginny a dosage of some potion or another, which Ginny drinks up readily.

"At least you don't complain." The matron says, begrudingly. "Now. What were you _thinking?"_

Ginny winces. Then straightens her shoulders.

"She deserved it," Ginny says, stubbornly.

"Oh, I'm well aware how very easily teenagers believe others _deserve_ such a thing - more often with magical means, but the situation remains the same," Madam Phomfrey says. "I asked what you were thinking, not why you did it."

"I really hate her for what she did," Ginny says, unflinchingly. "And she gave me the most _bullshit excuse -"_

"Miss Weasley, language." The mediwitch narrows her eyes. "What was the excuse?"

"That she wasn't thinking, that she was _jealous,_ well, newsflash," Ginny's nostrils flare. "For what she did? That's not good enough." Ginny leaned back on the pillows. "The final straw was - how hesitant she was about admitting it. _I didn't know,"_ Ginny mocks. " _I suppose."_

"I see," Madam Pomfrey purses her lips. "Well, so you are aware, a prefect has taken points and assigned detention."

"Who?" Ginny asks.

"For the safety of the student," Madam Pomfrey says, frostily, "I will withold that information, Miss Weasley."

"I'm not going to - _hurt_ anyone," Ginny says, annoyed.

"You're shaking, Miss Weasley," Madam Pomfrey says. "Once the adrenaline is gone from your system and you have calmed down, I will let you leave the hospital wing. _Rest,_ Miss Weasley."

Ginny buries her hands in the sheets, a white-knuckled grip on thin cotton. "Alright," She says.

Madam Pomfrey leaves her bedside. Now able to look around, Ginny does. It's mostly empty - nobody's fallen ill recently, or had an accident or a fight, except for herself and Hermione, it seems.

Lucky.

Ginny drops her head onto her pillow, and tries to rest.

* * *

Hermione has a bandage over her nose. She's fine, then, because she's also reading (while glaring at the pages, but, well) so Harry ignores her, and she doesn't notice him, because Harry has learned some stealth over the years, thanks (it's not like he'd have been able to live through his childhood at the Dursleys if he didn't know how to be quiet; a week in the cupboard with no food _meant a week in the cupboard with no food and water and bathroom breaks)_ and besides, on his own, he's still short enough for the cloak to trail on the floor. Just about. 

Harry moves over to where Ginny is, a sufficient distance from Hermione that he can talk, but still too close to remove the cloak.

"Ginny," He whispers. She jolts upwards, glances around. "It's me, Harry," Harry says. Ginny relaxes. She swings her legs off the bed and pulls the curtains shut around it's area, then sits back down. Harry pulls the cloak off.

"Harry," She says. Harry sits across from her on the visitor's chair. It's old and uncomfortable, but Harry's used to worse. His desk chair at the Dursley's isn't exactly _high quality furniture._

"Ginny," Harry says. "What happened?"

"Hermione said some bullshit and I punched her in the face." Ginny says. "I'm not sorry," Ginny adds.

"I know," Harry says. "I'm not - bothered, exactly."

"Oh?" Ginny raises an eyebrow.

Harry doesn't know how to put it. It's not that he's not bothered, exactly. He's - keeping his distance.

"I think I probably would have punched her," Harry says. (Harry heard other adults telling their kids, who were male, 'boys don't hit girls', but the Dursleys must have missed the memo, because Dudley kept pulling Sarah's hair and making her cry, and besides, if boys 'don't hit girls', ignoring the Dursleys... well, sure. Harry's never hit Petunia once in his life, after all, and no other girls besidses that. What stands, here, is that since he hasn't had the attitude ingrained in him that _boys don't hit girls,_ well, Harry really would have hit Hermione for saying the wrong thing about what... happened.)

"You probably would have done less damage," Ginny says, lightly. "I'm glad you weren't there," She adds.

Harry spent his entire childhood as a punching bag, to put it frankly.

He knows where you need to hit to do damage.

"Probably," He says, equally lightly, a lot more of a lie. "So am I," He says, for a different reason than she had in mind.

There's muffled noises and then the doors to the hospital wing open. Harry shoves his cloak back on and rolls under the bed in a rather undignifed manner, not a moment too soon, because the curtains are wrenched open.

"What are you doing?"

"Meditating," Ginny deadpans.

"Why did you - I've heard all over that you - you hit Hermione Granger," The voice is male, vaguely familiar.

"Michael," Ginny sighs. "Look, I can't tell you why, it's not my place-"

"It _is,_ I'm not - I refuse to be such a bad judge of character that I - I refuse to - to have dated someone that just - punches their friends, out of the blue-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," Ginny says. "I'm not her. I'm not _Hermione."_

"What the hell did Hermione do to _you?"_

"Someone hurts a Weasley they hurt _all_ the Weasleys," Ginny says, frostily. "Michael - "

And then the doors burst open again. "Ginny!" Molly calls out.

"Oh for-" Ginny lets out, then shakes her head. "Michael, please, just - we'll talk later, just -"

"No, we'll talk now, why-"

"My _mum's_ here, Michael, do you really want to meet your ex-"

"Do you not want me to meet her? Ashamed of me or something, Gin?"

"Stop calling me that, for Merlin's sake, I hated it when we were together-"

The curtains are opened fully, and Molly is standing there with Professor McGonagall, a rather unhappy looking Ron, a vindicated looking Lavender Brown (who is, yes, carefully holding Ron's hand) and a disgruntled Hermione with a book in one hand and the other gently messing with the bandage over her nose.

And Harry is still under the bed. This was not his best choice.

"Are we having a party or something?" Ginny says, exasperated. "I'm sorry. It's just, please, could you give us a minute?"

"Ginevra Weasley-" "Mum, _please."_

"Miss Weasley, this cannot wait," Professor McGonagall says, and there's the slightest hint of apology to her tone, but the rest is clipped. Oh, that's unfortunate; she's angry.

Harry shifts so that he's further hidden under the bed.

"Mr. Corner," Professor McGonagall adds, "Please return to your common room."

"... Right," Michael Corner says, midly affronted at his spat with Ginny being interrupted. "Fine," He says, and leaves.

 _Finally,_ Harry thinks.

"Okay," Ginny says. "Where's Harry?"

Ron kicks the floor, awkwardly. Hermione taps her foot, impatient and worried.

"Elsewhere, Miss Weasley, though I have no doubt he will mysteriously appear as we reach my office," Professor McGonagall says. "Come along." They all move to leave the Medical Wing, and Harry waits until they're gone to scramble to his feet. Harry follows after them, takes some shorcuts along the way, and stands around awkwardly with the cloak stuffed haphazardly into his schoolbag and the map half-folded and tucked into one of his robe's pockets.

"As expected," Professor McGonagall says, lips twitching. "Mr. Potter, come along." They all pile into her office.

"Ah, here you all are," The headmaster smiles genially. "Now. Molly, would you like to inform everyone, now we're all present, what you needed us gathered up for?"

As she speaks, his eyes stop twinkling.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: fixed the Michael section


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for a bit of preamble, to head this off in the comments;
> 
> Yes. Harry didn't really get into that much trouble about sectumsempra, yada yada. Personally, I think he got into the right amount of trouble. My responses to any statements about the sectumsempra situation are thus;
> 
> 1) Yes, it was stupid for Harry to use a spell he didn't know the effects of.   
> 2) Harry was a sixteen year old in the heat of battle, which everyone always seems to brush aside - sixteen-year-olds aren't known for making the best decisions on a good day, let alone when fighting someone who has the same deadly weapons at his disposal as you do, who hates your guts and vice versa, and who employs very dark curses with little effort;  
> 3) Draco used the Cruciatus curse. During the battle. I can't quite remember right now if he hit or was going to hit harry - I confess, It's been a while since I read the books all the way through and the details are a little fuzzy - but, I can safely say that, yes, he'd escalated the spat to the point of no return. Draco took their fight from a fight to a battle, and from a battle to something deadly - /he willingly and with full understanding tried to Crucio Harry./ I'm pretty sure he missed, thinking back, but if he hadn't?
> 
> If he hadn't? Crucio, guys. /Crucio/. 
> 
> Just... think about that, please, before you go blaming Harry for panicking and saying the first spell that came to mind, okay? 
> 
> Anyway. Harry didn't get much in the way of punishment for nearly killing Draco because, yeah, Draco tried to use an unforgivable on him and Harry nearly killing him was a complete accident. Yes. Wands are deadly implements and should not be pointed at other people lightly. But the person in the wrong in that scene /is/ Draco. It just is. Harry's in the monumentally stupid category, but understandably so. Draco's upset he can't figure out how to fix a cabinet that'll bring a bunch of death eaters to the school and, in the meantime, kill Albus Dumbledore. Yes, he's also upset that if he doesn't do either his family will be killed, no ifs and or buts, but, also... well, I can't bring myself to feel sorry for him. There are eleven-year-olds at that school, remember. Little kids. 
> 
> Harry defended himself. That's that. Hermione is going to be punished in this fic because she wasn't defending anyone. Well. Does her ego count?

Marietta paces in front of the wall of evidence, frowning to herself in consternation.

She _really_ wants it to be the holidays already. Marietta needs the muggle records - there are gaps in her timeline, things that don't quite add up. She's being very holmsian about it, or at least she's trying to, and without all the evidence that - doesn't really work. Deductions are all well and good, but without all the pieces you can never make sense of the puzzle.

Marietta rubs her DA coin between her fingers, flips it, taps it against her bottom lip as she paces. This is a habit she's picked up, since last year. Marietta had gotten the awkward nervous tick of checking it for a new time, which she hadn't yet managed to drop. The time hadn't changed since the last meeting - and it likely never would. For some reason, the DA appeared to have disbanded, even though now more than ever, Marietta thinks, it's needed.

She's researching Tom for a lack of anything more productive to do, now that he's _back._ And, sure. He'd been back last year, but she had never seen any proof, and she was sixteen and stupid. Marietta is seventeen and at least somewhat smarter, now, now that she's an adult, now that she's doing her NEWTS come summer and she'll be out in the real world _smack dab in the middle of a war,_ and okay.

She's antsy. She's scared. And Marietta _hates_ that - hates feeling so useless. Cho dragged her along to the DA, sure. Marietta told Umbridge about it because otherwise her mother would have lost her job and they'd have lost their house and Marietta would have been expelled and they'd have had to join the muggle word with no family no education and in Marietta's case, no identification... but towards the end, there, it started to mean something more.

Not enough, at the time. But something _more._ And right now, Marietta needs that something, that more, because - there's a war going on. Right now. It might not feel like it, but Marietta's read the Daily Prophets and the Witch Weeklys and the Quibblers and all the other magazines and newspapers from the tens, the thirties and fourties, the sixties and seventies and early eighties. 

Marietta's not stupid. They look the same, they all do, in different ways. Random deaths, disappearances, advice in the columns for warding and ways to get out of the country.

Calls to arms. There was an uptick in advertisments for the Aurors in the 10s, in the 30s and 40s, 70s. The trends are repeating themselves.

Marietta looks at her evidence wall, and grunts in annoyance. There is information missing from the muggle world, she knows, but there's other missing bits she won't be able to get. Threads that drop off, trails that go cold. Tight-lipped purebloods and dead family lines - the Mckinnons are gone, so she can't ask what happened to them. Nearly everyone from the Potters' year group is dead, or a Death Eater, or a purist pretending not to be a death eater. Nobody she can ask, regardless, because Marietta doesn't want to be one of the deaths in the back of the Prophet. 

Half of those were journalists who dug a little too deep. Marietta does her research and she does it _well,_ she'll have you know.

Marietta taps her coin on her lip again, thoughtful. She lowers her arm and rubs the pad of her thumb against the embossed numbers, and...

_Wonders._

There _are_ people that can ask questions she can't, after all.

Not _all_ Slytherins are purist assholes, Marietta reflects, consideringly.

They're just normal assholes. Easy to _bribe,_ she thinks, tapping her coin against the side of her leg.

* * *

Dumbledore steeples his hands on the desk. McGonagall's lips are thin to the point of merging together, and she's pale with the effort of holding back her ire. 

Harry's hands, which are hidden behind his back, are shaking, a little. Ginny notes this. Maybe he's been in shock since Hermione hurt Ron and now it's _really_ registering, what she did, but Ginny can't profess to know. She'd love to, obviously. But she can't.

"There is a conundrum here, of course," Dumbledore states, very seriously. McGonagall's lips thin further, if that were possible. "May I suggest a change in prefect status?" Professor McGonagall - more states than inquires, tone cool and unfriendly. Hermione flinches and Professor McGonagall's eyes narrow. "I did not teach my students such spells to use against their peers, Miss Granger," The woman states, coldly. "You have _failed_ in your duty - you _harmed_ another student, severely - your _friend -_ "

That appears to be the sticking point here, for their Transfiguration teacher.

"Minerva," Dumbledore says, calmly. Professor McGonagall halts, narrows her eyes at him, but stops.

Ginny clenches one hand into a fist, hidden in one of her robe's pockets, and waits him out. He keeps his hands steepled and bores his dull, no longer twinkling eyes into Hermione's. She sits there, clearly uncomfortable, but she willingly meets his gaze.

Dumbledore sighs, sadly, and Hermione flinches. Ginny's hand clenches tighter around the fabric of her robes from within her pocket, and her free hand, on the armrest of the chair, flexes. Her mum smacks her hand, lightly, like she knows, and Ginny shoves it into one of her other pockets.

Molly's face is white with fury, and her wand is on the other side of McGonagall's desk, to be on the safe side.

Ginny's is on the other side of the room. Dumbledore has Harry's.

Speaking of Harry, who's face is a little too impassive to mean anything other than him trying his damndest to surpress his emotions, the older teen speaks up. "What's going to happen to Hermione, sir?"

The question of the evening. Ginny returns her focus to Dumbledore, who frowns, conflicted.

Ginny imagines a chessboard, sitting on the table in front of him. He's got that expression, the one Ron gets when a game isn't going well, or something unexpected and unwanted happens. A little like he blames his pieces, a lot like he blames himself.

"What Minerva said holds merit," The Headmaster states. Hermione, who is the least adept at holding back her emotions - which, by the way, is not a bad thing, just a statement of truth - can't help but let out a sob of sorts, a small sound of discontent. She blinks, furiously, like she's trying to stop her eyes from watering.

"But," Dumbledore says, after a pause. "In these trying times, I am unsure of who else to trust with such responsibility."

Lavender shifts in her seat. She's holding Ron's hand, still so careful. The cuts are healed by now, though they took longer than they should have, and he's got scars on top of scars on top of all the little cuts and scrapes you get from living on a farm, from having five rowdy older brothers and a reckless little sister and not having much self-preservation _without_ those influences.

"However," Dumbledore says, "There is, of course, the fact that it does not need to be a sixth year."

But they need a sixth year prefect, Ginny frowns, confused. "Yes, I can see it in your faces," The man says, amused, "But she'd need to be a sixth year prefect! Well, have you ever considered that we did it in such a way for ease? It's a lot easier chosing one from each year than the worthy from all. Regardless, as it stands -" He looks over his glasses. "I rather think there is a good candidate in this very room," He says. "Two, indeed. Miss Brown, Miss Weasley - if, after we have spoken with Miss Granger, you would both re-enter the room, that would be wonderful. Right now, however, I must ask everyone else, including you both, to leave. This is the sort of situation that is best dealt with without - certain interferences," The Headmaster says. "Molly, Ronald, Hermione, please, stay with us - but the rest of you, if you would kindly take your leave for a moment?"

Harry glares, from where he's standing.

Ginny looks at Ron, who - nods, a little, at Lavender. She stands, and Ginny does the same. They move to the door. Harry hesitates.

"Don't you need a witness?" He asks.

"Perhaps not a witness, as such - but, yes, actually... the memory of the event would be particularly useful," Headmaster Dumbledore muses. "Yes - Harry, if you wouldn't mind...?"

"Yeah, just - how..?"

Ginny leaves the room, closes the door, and doesn't hear the rest of the conversation.

She stands in the hallway with Lavender. It's a bit awkard, since Ginny doesn't know her very well, but since this ordeal started she's... grown to respect her, if not to like her, since Ginny doesn't, as she said, know her very well, and if you don't know someone it's particularly hard to like them.

But she respects what she's seen, and that's enough.

"How is he?" Ginny asks. Lavender startles - she was trying to hear through the door, but Ginny has it under good authority - the Twins - that McGongall has very good privacy wards on her office. "Oh," Lavender hesitates. "Ron - he's feeling better," She says. "But... a friend doing that to - I can't even think how you deal with that," She admits. "It's betrayal, isn't it? Plain and simple."

That it is, Ginny thinks. She thinks of McGongall's anger, and thinks of Harry's dad. Thinks of the Marauders.

"I think you should know," Lavender says, "that you tease him too much."

Ginny blinks at her. "What?" She says, confused at the non-sequitter.

"Sorry," Lavender apologises, sort of. "I just felt it should be said. He had no idea why you'd punch Hermione in the face, you know, like you did. Didn't believe it at first - said you had a better handle on yourself than that, and anyway, why would you? It's not like she hurt _you,_ nevermind that I asked him what he'd do if your friend or your boyfriend hurt you like that and he said pretty much what you did..." Lavender trails off, shrugging. "It means a lot to me to get along with the people your SO gets along with," Lavender says. "Whoever they are. And I - I want you to know what I think right now, about you, and I think you're pretty cool, but. I think you tease him too much."

"Why do you think that?" Ginny asks, genuinely curious. "It's just - sibling banter."

"Does he do the same to you?" Lavender asks. Well, not really, not for years - but that's because Ginny's the little sister. One wrong word and Molly'd have your hide. No matter if Ginny didn't want her to do that, or if it was a bit of fun, or a sibling giving as good as they got.

"When we were younger," Ginny says. "All the time. Twins were too - mean, I guess, and Percy was a git, you know, so we were the only friends we had, right? Ergo, banter."

"Mean?" Lavender asks. "I don't remember, really," Ginny says. "Siblings have favourites, and the Twins liked me the most - I liked Charlie the most, Bill liked Ron the most, Percy... I don't really know, maybe me maybe Ron, Ron never really let it be known who his was - probably me - and I kinda hero-worshiped Charlie for a while, there, but Ron was the one I was closest to. So the Twins - they weren't mean to me, just pulled a few pranks."

"But they were mean to Ron," Lavender concludes.

"Everyone, really," Ginny says. "Just the way they are. Fun for hilarity and profit, you know? No expenses spared. They don't _mean_ it," Ginny tries to explain. "If someone did any of what they do to other people to them, they'd laugh their arses off. They don't see why anyone wouldn't find it funny - people taking offense makes no sense, to them. Think the only time Fred ever mean to actually hurt someone's feelings was when he turned Ron's bear into a spider when Ron was like, a kid, I guess, 'cause Ron broke his broom. I was way too young, I don't really know." Ginny shrugs. "He's been - a little more careful since then, though."

"Ron's got arachnaphobia," Lavender says, "You're telling me _Fred_ gave him that?"

"I don't think he meant to," Ginny says. "He was like, five? Maybe? I don't know how it went down, obviously. Just that Ron's hated spiders ever since."

"Feared," Lavender corrects. "Sheer, paralysing fear."

"How do you know that?" Ginny asks.

"Spider in the common room," Lavender holds her hands out to demonstrate. Quite large, but not in the realm of young acromantula. "Just went - really pale and really still. Harry picked it up and let it out - this was like, early in the year. Before we were dating. But..."

"You noticed," Ginny says.

"I don't just like him because he won a match," Lavender says. "I'm not _that_ shallow."

"Sorry," Ginny says. All she's ever heard about Lavender has come from one particular person, and well. Hermione likes to think she's nicer than she is, to put it lightly. Hermione's _very_ judgemental, about 'girly girls'. Like Lavender.

Ginny thinks about how 'girly' it is to have a crush on your hero, and thinks about Hermione's advice. There was an undercurrent to it, now that she thinks about it.

_Date someone else to get his attention,_ is what it boils down to. _He's bound to notice you romantically if you do things that are romantic,_ and finally, _he's bound to get jealous, because that's what boys do._ And, in turn, _It's how relationships work; the girl gets the guy jealous by dating someone else._

Ginny doesn't like that mindset at all.

"You don't know me," Lavender says. "To you I'm shallow, to me you're sporty. I've gotten Ron in stalemate ten times, and I've beat him twice."

Ginny blinks. Lavender smiles. "Have you ever read the Art of War, Ginny? Or a witch weekly magazine? Because, opposed to what some people think, you are able to read _both,_ " She adds, with the same sweet smile.

"I've read Witch Weekly," Ginny says. "And Quidditch Throughout the Ages."

"I think we'll make good prefects," Lavender says. "Certainly better than _her."_

"Maybe not," Ginny says. "I'm not such a stickler for the rules. Some kid's out at night, I don't really care."

"The little things like that don't matter," Lavender says. "But you're plenty capable of stopping a fight in a hallway. People listen to you, Ginny. You went to the Ministry with Harry last year, and whatever happend with the Basilisk, whatever your role was there - you've been at the center of a lot of things the rest of us can only hope to glean a couple details of now and then," Lavender reaches over and squeezes her arm lightly. "I think you'd do a great job," She says. "But there's one thing I want to talk about."

"What?" Ginny asks.

"Why did we stop the DA?" Lavender asks.

Voldemort _is_ back, Ginny thinks. And now everyone knows it.

So yeah, actually. _Why_ did the DA stop meeting?

* * *

"Oh, wow." Terrance slumps into the armchiar. Needs must, and all, but Marietta rather wishes they didn't. 

"Look," She says. "I'm researching something very delicate. You can't tell _anyone."_

"You dragged me here," He says, obnoxiously.

"I did _not!"_ Marrietta wants to slam her head against a wall. "You followed me from the common room!"

"Good thing I did, because I can get those muggle docs you want sooner!" He says. "Good thing dad's a historian, right? Right? Go on, say it, I'm right."

Marietta grits her teeth. He _is_ right, and it's _infuriating._ Her forehead twinges, and she reminds herself of her motto. _What Wouldn't Hermione Granger Do._

"Okay," She sighs. "You're right." 

Terrance blinks, then smiles, slowly. "Alright," He says, happily. "Not so hard, was it? Now, I'll get you those docs." And with a flourish he stands, spins, and leaves the Room of Requirement.

Gah. Marietta sighs. She knows _just_ how likely it is for word to get out the more people there are that know about something - being a forced whistleblower herself - so this does worry her, but. She'll trust him, enough, because, like she said.

There are a few things that Marietta and Terrance agree on. And, as it turns out, there's more than three. The free press, acid pops and sugar quills, Hermione Granger, and the importance of History - and in turn, not repeating it's mistakes.

Four. Marietta worries she'll actually grow to _like_ the asshole.

* * *

"So." Harry looks into the fireplace, at the merrily crackling logs that feel severely opposed to the current mood of the room, as he speaks - instead of the other teen on the couch. "Hermione lost her prefect status."

"Yeah," Ron says, in the same tone. "I guess she did."

"Got detention," Harry says. "Until the next holiday." Harry watches the flames dance, somewhat mesermised by their performance in his tired state.

"She did at that," Ron says.

Harry swallows. "I'm-"

"I know," Ron says. "Let's not, yeah?"

Not works. Harry nods, mutely. It's late, and they're both tired, so the two teens head up to the dorms.

* * *

The next morning, of course, everyone knows. Because the paintings talk... and the students gossip.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this fic we stan 'side characters' like Marietta Edgecombe and Lavender Brown, please and thank you.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detention, discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short and sweet. Well, a bit more vitriolic than sweet, but still. Short and sour? The second half is sweet, though. I hope.

Minerva sealed the letter with the hogwarts crest, then sighed down at the envelope laid before her. This was perhaps one of the worst letters home she's ever had to write, because this situation, while not wholly unique is - well, Minerva is admittedly closer to the students involved. Oh, she knows she shouldn't be; teachers should never play favourites, but it's hard not to, when you have helped along the development of each child under your perview. 

For a long time, Hermione Granger has been Minerva's best student. It's difficult, then, to reconcile that little eleven year old in her memories that stood up for two boys she barely knew, and the woman now, the seventeen year old  _adult_ who is best friends with those same boys... who hurt one of them badly. 

Minerva doesn't have to write many letters to the parents, truthfully. There's generally little point, for smaller infractions; Minerva sees them more often than their parents do, and the school has systems in place for punishment and in turn ways to induce understanding of what the student did wrong in said pupil, and for the vast majority of instances it's just - unecessary to write to the parents. The student's already repented, there's no need to repeat the punishment, because then it's just punishment for punishment's sake. 

But here, it's different. Minerva can't not write home about this, it's part of her job. Extreme situations call for extreme measures, as they always have. Minerva, also, is so very _angry_ with Miss Granger, because -

Trust is a delicate thing. Whatever Mr. Weasley did, he never hurt Miss Granger phsically, and in turn that means this  _attack_ was - out of proportion. Emotional hurt does not give you leeway to do -

That. Minerva moves to a window and opens it. After a minute or so, her owl, Athena, lands on her perch. Minerva smooths down her feathers, as the spectacled owl hoots inquisitively. 

"A letter for Mr and Mrs Granger, if you will," Minerva explains, tying the letter to the owl's offered leg. Her owl hoots in affirmation and swoops out of the window, and Minerva sighs again.

What a - situation. What a horrible, terrible occurace this was.

Betrayal. Minerva cannot _stand_ betrayal. There is a knock at the door, and Minerva sighs.

The professor lifts her wand and accios the door open, then moves to sit at her desk.

"Come in," She says. "Miss Granger, take a seat."

The young witch does as asked without unecessary hesitation, which is all Minerva expects of her students. It's a terrible thing, for your best student, and yes, your favourite, to do this. To do something so - 

Unexpected.

Minerva looks at the girl across from her, the one she has seen grow from a child to a woman, looks at her and wonders where she went _wrong._ Minerva spends more time with her students than their parents do, certainly, hours every day for nine months every year for seven years - she knows her seventh year students, her seventh year gryffindors who've taken transfiguration every single year of their stay at Hogwarts far better than their own parents do. She's seen them grow and change and she's guided them, _in loco parentis,_ as is her duty, and sometimes, sometimes she goes wrong, and each time, every single time, it's a burden. Minerva has fought on battlefields against her own students, seen them transfigure walls of stone against her own spells, seen them conjure up ice and send little bullets of it hurtling towards innocent _children,_ seen them laughing as they cut down people left and right... and she's seen her students do terrible things, seen some students get the death sentence, years after she'd last seen them, for - the worst of acts, and every single time, Minerva blames herself.

"This is not the sort of incident that can let you have a normal detention," Minerva tells the young woman across from herself. "You have done something - utterly _illegal,_ Miss Granger, in the worst sense. Miss Granger you are now an _adult,_ as much as your peers in your year are not, and I expect better from you." Minerva clasps her hands on her desk, waits out Miss Granger's flinch until the girl settles again, and waits until she shifts, uncomfortably, before she continues.

"We are going to review the memories of the event." Minerva states. "We will look over Mr. Potter's, then Mr. Weasley's, and then your own. Miss Brown kindly allowed the use of what she caught sight of, as well, and we will look at that after we've discussed the others in detail. This should take a fair few detentions. After such, we will then look over the sort of punishment you would expect had you done this outside of school, in the wider british wizarding world, as you would now be tried as an _adult,_ Miss Granger."

Miss Granger nods.

"Good," Minerva says. "Albus has leant us the use of his pensive, for the forseable future." Minerva stood and walked over to the trunk it had been transported in, and retrieved the ancient magical object. She tossed it over to the table, where it gently glided to, and once Minerva was sat back at her desk, it had settled, hovering above it slightly.

"Miss Granger," Minerva starts. "I expect total and complete concentration during the memories. You will not speak, you will not interrupt, you will watch and absorb. Afterwards, I will recount my own observations. If you have any context I will hear it and then I will explain, as you seem unable to understand, just why none of that is a valid excuse as to why you attacked your good friend Mr. Weasley."

Miss Granger flinches, and Minerva ignores this.

"Please enter the memory, Miss Granger." Minerva says, cooly. Miss Granger swallows, and does as asked without fanfare. Minerva follows.

* * *

Memories are in third person. It is still, however, good to get multiple perspectives, because it allows more freedom of movement around the memories, more detail within the memories, and less liklihood of the memories involved of having been tampered with. It's a delicate art, but Albus is good at it, and he's 'stitched', for lack of a better term, the memories into one whole. 

The memories follow Harry, Miss Granger, Miss Brown, and Ronald from the party, at the moment Miss Brown kisses Mr. Weasley. They follow the four from the party to when they arrive at the room, and then they follow the three in the room where Mr. Weasley was attacked to his departure, and then they follow Miss Granger's exit and Miss Brown's observation of such.

Through the memory, Minerva's lips thin to the point of mild pain, as her teeth press into the skin. She pales with the effort of keeping in her anger, as she watches Miss Granger attack a fellow student, and when the memories end and the two of them are kicked out of the pensieve, Minerva has to sit still for a minute to gather herself together.

"Miss Granger," Minerva states. "If you would put your wand on the desk," She says. Albus had been there before, and while Miss Granger has detentions now, Minerva knows it is not enough. Points perhaps are petty, but the students care about them, and - Minerva cannot let her house win the cup off of the back of a lack of punishment of this sort of thing.

Miss Granger places her wand on the desk. Minerva nods, once, an incline of the head.

"200 points from Gryffindor," She states, frostilly. Miss Granger gasps, lightly.

"I have taken 150 before," Minerva reminds the young woman. "From _you,_ and your friends, in fact. This is hardly more of a punishment, though I feel I should take more if you do not yet realise you _deserve that._ "

Miss Granger sucks in a breath. "I do," She bursts out. "I _know_ I do, I can't - I hurt -"

She bursts into tears, and Minerva simply clasps her hands together and waits her out again.

"He's my friend," Miss Granger says, sniffling. "I never-"

"You did." Minerva interrupts. "I have _never,_ in all my years, seen such anger from a student of mine towards a friend - and I am no idiot, Miss Granger, I can see jealousy where it lives, but jealousy is no excuse. You do _not_ hurt the people you care about."

Much like six years ago, the 'never, in all my years' is a lie, of course, but much like six years ago, it is to emphasise the issue. Miss Granger should not have done this, though at least she knows that.

Now is simply the time to understand why she did it, and to remove the chance of it happening again.

This sort of situation _requires_ internal assement and contemplation, it _requires_ character growth. One should _never_ raise a hand to a friend unless absolutely required (meaning, they raise a hand first).

"I want one roll, a _singular roll_ of parchment with legibly sized handwriting, on just how badly you handled the situation that night, and how badly it could have gone. I would like, also, at least one way in which the canaries could have permanantly damaged Mr. Weasley." Minerva requests. "You may go. Return here the same time next week."

Miss Granger nods, feebly, and moves to pick up her wand.

"If you may," Minerva states, "leave it on the desk. I have you first thing tomorrow morning, so I shall return it then. For reasons you likely understand, I do not trust you with a weapon at this time. This may remind you that such actions in your future could indeed leave you with _no right to a wand at all,_ Miss Granger. And perhaps that will make you learn what you value more. I have called Miss Patil to walk with you back to the common room for your saftey. If she does not wish to talk, Miss Granger, give her that courtesy."

Miss Granger hesitates, but she nods and leaves. Minerva puts Miss Granger's wand in her desk and locks the drawer, then returns the pensieve to the trunk. It's a smaller vanishing cabinet, in truth; it's the easiest and safest way to transport the pensieve from office to office, and though it's not cheap, for this, it was required.

Minerva sighs, and retires to her room. She has a session - not a detention - with Mr. Weasley tomorrow, and Mr. Potter later on that night. Minerva is not, admittedly, cut out for therapy, but, in this case, needs must.

She is their head of house, after all. And it is her duty.

* * *

 

"Am I awesome or what?" Terrance says, dropping the documents onto the table. "Riddle family, circa the early 1900s. They were in Little H for a long time before then, o'course, but we don't need that. They've got no magical heritage whatsoever. Just one magical kid, who ended the line."

"Ended the line?" Marietta asks, then slaps herself on the forehead. Obviously he ended the lie, Tom had no kids.

"So Mr. Tom's family here," Terrance says, frowning minutely at her slapping her forehead, "Really likes the name Tom, which is why it was easy to find them. Say, Mari, when was the last time you slept, eh?"

"Last night," She dismisses. For four hours, but that's more than enough.

"Look, I figured this out," She says, pointing to the wall. "See, with the info we've got now what with Black's posthumous aquittal, or whatever, we can figure out that _Snape_ was the double agent. Along with Pettigrew."

"What?" Terry looks at her. "Didn't we know that?"

"We suspected," She corrects. "Cho always figured that Snape was let off because Dumbledore vouched for him, not because he actually did anything good."

"Why would he do that?"

"Sentimental," Marietta says, connecting some more lines. "Most of that year group is either dead or a death eater. One redemption story to warm the heart after the betrayal of the 'Marauders', you know, blah blah. Also I figure Snape had some real useful information that he gave to Dumbledore in return for his protection, probably."

"Alright," Terrance says. "Sure. So about the riddles."

"What?" She turns. "No magic," Terrance replies. It takes a moment for Marietta to catch up.

"Oh, right, you didn't know," She turns back. "Yeah, Tommy's a half-blood. He's really hypocritical, mate."

"Mate?" Terrance says, delightedly. "Ha! I'm your friend now."

"Fuck," Marietta says.

"Now you're swearing," Terrance says, frowning lightly again. "How much sleep have you been getting?" He asks.

"Enough," Marietta says. "There's a lot to do, you know, sorting out what actually happend in the last war, Voldy's rise to power, I've got to learn my part of the new set the Fat Friar is having us do in the choir, which is old and complicated and boring so it's hard to figure out, since he can't exactly give us sheet music, can he? And then there's Snape's blasted essay for tomorrow, which I still need to finish, so I probably won't be getting any sleep tonight either, which is just great, because we're moving onto a new topic in Charms and I'm -" Marietta makes a frustrated noise. " - I'm preparing for the NEWTS this year and if I fail then what the hell am I going to do? I can't stay here another year we're in the middle of a war, and if I don't get any qualifications I'm going to be stuck in a worse job than mum is and I can't do that because we're scraping by and way too dependant on the ministry as it is -" Marietta makes another, louder frustrated noise, and drops the string that won't stick. "And I can't even cast a sticking charm non-verbally!"

"Mari," Terrance says. "C'mon," He says, and he takes her wrist, very gentally, Marietta thinks, as he leads her away from her wall of connections. "You need a break."

"No I don't," Marietta says, and she hates a lot that she sounds petulant, but she lets him lead her out of the Room. Still, she frowns, because she doesn't want to seem too happy to just drop all her responsibilites, but that pulls at the scars on her face which still _hurt_ and she hates that, it's been months, nearly a year, so _fuck off already,_ and she hasn't really told anyone but it - she hates seeing it, looking at herself in the mirror and seeing them on her face, a permanent mark towards her character, proof that she can't be trusted, proof that she's easily scared and manipulated -

And she's just tired. And she's tired because she's been doing so much, and she's been doing so much because she's been distracting herself, and she's been distracting herself because she's _scared,_ and oh look; full circle. Marietta isn't ready to face the world yet, she just isn't. Not a world in the middle of a war, not a world at peace, she's just... not ready. She feels like Hogwarts hasn't prepared her for anything at all, she just - what do you even _do_ in the wizarding world, anyway? She had that chat with Flitwick about potential carrers but there were so many to do with the Ministry and so few to do with anything else and Marrieta doesn't want to be dependent on them at all during a war because, last time, they're the ones that fell _first._

Marietta thinks it's hard enough to be an adult _normally._ Let alone during a war. 

"Where are we going?" Marietta asks.

"Kitchens," Terrance says. "You look like you could use something to eat."

"I guess." Marietta says. She lets the taller ravenclaw lead her down the school, through secret passages Marietta points out from her time needing them when she was a DA member, down staircases and through hallways until they arrive at the painting. Terrance tickles the pear and they enter, and it's quiet inside.

A crack, and then there's a house elf in front of them. "Tippy's asking you what yous want?" Tippy asks, and Marietta smiles at her. "Just something to eat," She says. "A sandwitch? Maybe?"

"Ham and Cheese for me," Terrance says. "Bacon for Marietta."

Tippy nods and dissappears. The table nearby is suddenly set, with plates and cups and the sandwitches in question appear a few moments after they've sat down.

"Speedy aren't they, house elves?" Terrance says, rhetorically.

"Thank you," Marietta calls out, since Tippy hadn't made a reappearance.

Marietta's and Terrance's cups fill with water, and a plate of ginger biscuits appear on the table in reply.

Marietta hides a yawn behind her drink. "How's your mum?" Terrance asks.

"Oh." Marietta puts her cup down and picks up her sandwitch, takes a few bites as a way to stall.

"Well, you know," She says. "Hasn't got a promotion in the last seven years of her working for the ministry. But... I don't know. I haven't seen her since - last holiday. Summer. And we're - we're too busy to write, so..."

"Oh." Terrance looks down at his plate, picks up his sandwitch and stalls like Marietta had. "Sorry to hear that," He says, after.

"What about yours?" Marietta asks. "Dunno," Terrance says. "Somewhere I guess. Bolted, didn't she?"

"Oh." Marietta says, feeling dumb. "Dad remarried recently," Terrance adds, awkwardly. "You didn't - I haven't really told anyone, so they think Mary's my mum. It's - not your fault."

"Still." Marietta says. "We're friends now, aren't we? I should know these things."

Terrance smiles at his sandwitch, reflexively. Marietta has friends, or really, just the one, or, two, now, these days - Cho, Terrance - but... Terrance never really made any. He's - kind of abrasive, honestly. Was always a bit arrogant and flirty and annoying, and he wore sunglasses inside. Still does, often. 

If she thinks about it, that's probably just him being defensive.

"Nah," Terrance says. "Don't expect people to know things you don't tell them."

"You know why I have this right?" Marietta asks, gesturing at her face. _Sneak_ covers the top half - her eyelids hurt like a _bitch_ until they healed over. It's still not particularly comfortable, but she can deal with it. She's lost movement in her eyebrows and shit just because if she moves them too much the scars stretch or fold and that - doesn't feel great.

So.

"Yeah," Terrance says. "What a dick move, really."

Marietta's lips quirk up. "It wasn't even preventative," Marietta says. "I mean, I get it. Punish the snitches, right? But. Why not stop people talking all together?"

"It really doesn't help," Terrance agrees. "C'mon, I mean, doesn't the curse just prove there was something to tattle on?"

"Doesn't stop tattling and just - hurts," Marietta agrees. "Pointless, really. She'd do it again, though."

"Course she would, look at what she did to Weasley. She _scarred his scars,_ I mean, Christ."

Marietta grimaces reflexively. How do you even do that?

"Not permanently though," Marietta says. "They're healing."

"But they fucked up his already existing scars, right?" Terrance asks. "I mean, aren't they from that not-so-secret excursion to the Department of Mysteries?"

"Yeah," Marietta quietens. "What the hell even makes that sort of scar?"

Terrance shuddered. "Nothing I want to think about."

Marietta agreed vehemently. "Alright," She says. "Well... I got them from telling Umbridge about the DA."

"I know that?" Terrance frowns at her. "What are you...?"

"My mum was going to lose her job," Marietta explains. She just - she's told Cho, but, Cho's always been on her side, and she's always been on Cho's. Marietta just... she just wants a second opinion. "We would have - no income, because where else would she get employment? So I couldn't affoard anything for Hogwarts, so I couldn't come here, and - we'd lose the apartment, and... I guess we'd have to go live in the muggle world, but... well, Mum left in 1973. I don't exist. How in Morgana's name would we survive out there? So I panicked."

"Which is completely understandable," Terrance says. "I was sixteen too, last year, and if I'd been pressed on like that by Umbridge? I'd have had no chance. She was fucking _scary."_

Marietta nods, miserably. 

"Hey," Terrance says. "Look. Mari, you're a good person. Everyone gets scared, you know. You just... find another way to fight, if you're not made for the front lines. That's what you're doing, isn't it? With Mr. Tom's whole backstory."

"Journalists tended to die a lot, last time." Marietta reminds him. "It's not exactly safe."

"Aren't you glad I've got your back, then?" He grins, and Marietta can't help but smile back.

"We're sneaks and we're proud of it," Terrance says. "We're going to snitch on _all_ their secrets. Can't fight a war if everyone knows how you fight it." He holds out his hand, palm flat.

"Whistleblowing," Marietta says. "Not what I thought I'd be doing for a living." She smiles, and high-fives him.

Just do what you're good at, Marietta remembers Flitwick saying. Alright. If Marietta can't keep her gob shut, well, that just works in her favour.

Suck on _that,_ Granger.

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terrance/Marietta is growing on me. ;) Just a couple of sneaks doing their best to spill all the beans.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um hi bitches hope you all like this one

Mr. Weasley knocks on the door to her office. Minerva accios it open, and gestures to the armchair opposite. This isn't detention, it's... a substitute for a therapy session, in a sense, and Minerva is reliably informed by the events of this teen's first year that he rather enjoys a game of chess, and as someone who was once a young Gryffindor, knows simple ways to make those of her own house at ease; comfortable chairs, informal setting, a warm, crackling fire, and something they enjoy. So, on the low table between the two armchairs is a chess set, and the fire in the hearth is merrily crackling away.

"Sit," Minerva gestures, and Mr. Weasley does so, awkwardly, a bit warily, in the chair opposite.

"As I was not present for our last match," Minerva states, lips twitching. "I call for a rematch. The stakes were - protect three peices; your own, one other, and the king, yes?"

"Yeah," Ron says, awkwardly. "Hermione was - Queen's side castle, Harry was the King, and I was - a knight," He finishes. Minerva nods. "You did very well," Minerva tells him, because he did. Chess is hard enough, but having to defend two extra pieces? And Minerva hadn't held back on her charms, what with them being there to defend the stone from dark wizards. They were  _more_ violent than usual, not less. Though, she had charmed them with the aim to knock out interlopers, too; in order to catch those who tried to steal the stone, rather than outright kill. Minerva has fought in a war, but she's not a muderer.

"Nearly got my head bashed in," Mr. Weasley says.

"You won the match," Minerva's lips thin. She should have known the lock wasn't enough - Merlin knows Hagrid isn't allowed to do magic but does it anyway. They could have used a stronger locking spell and just tought the man it's counter... alohamora should not have been a spell that worked.

There are a lot of things they could have done, Minerva supposes. But it's not like Quirrel would have locked the door behind himself that night, and it's likely these three would have found another way in. Everything always tended to happen to them - it's almost uncanny, how nothing ever happens to anyone else that aren't somehow linked to Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger.

"I guess." Mr. Weasley says. "Why am I here, Professor?"

"To talk about that night," Minerva states, simply. "When Miss Granger attacked you."

"Right," The teen says, glumly. "Shall we?" Minerva gestures to the chess board.

"Alright," Mr. Weasley says. Minerva makes her move. After some consideration, Mr. Weasley makes his.

"I have seen all the memories of that night," Minerva says, as gently as she knows wouldn't aggravate. "So you don't have to describe what happened." She took her student's pawn, and inclined her head. "Though it would be good for you to talk about it, and I request that you do."

The match continues, for a few rounds, before he shrugs.

"Can you tell me if you'd - ever thought Miss Granger capable of such actions before that evening?"

Mr. Weasley snorts. He sends his knight to take Minerva's castle, and she waits.

"Hermione's done a lot of sh- stuff," Mr. Weasley's expression changes rapidly, settles on conflicted. "I mean, she's my friend. It's like... you wouldn't think Harry'd hit her, or she'd hit me, or I'd hit harry, or whatever, right?"

But there is a distancing effect that magic can have. Minerva has seen it many a time first hand; people don't think about what a spell does, when they're angry, they just say it. Angry people don't always punch others, because - there's a sort of visceral reaction. You feel your fist hit flesh, the skin of your knuckles split, the crunch of bone if you punch them on their nose, in the weak little dip between brow and bridge. But with a spell, like in the memory - you cast it on instinct and can be gone the next second, never to see or realise the effect your anger had on the other person, and never to realise just what you've done.

People don't generally hit their friends, when they're angry at them - but Minerva has seen many poeple curse them.

"I would not, Mr. Weasley, which is decidedly the problem," Minerva states. She takes his bishop, and looks the teen square in the eye. "But this is not about what I would think. Before that night, did you ever think Miss Granger would hurt you?"

"No." Ronald looks down, takes his move, then looks back at Minerva. "We've fought before, obviously. But not - literally."

Well, that's at least something. Minerva is... glad that this was spur of the moment - but it is the sort of devil you know versus the devil you don't situation. Which is worse? That she hurt him on instinct, or that she hurt him intentionally?

That it was her instinct to be violent towards someone she likes, or that it was a concious decision to be violent towards someone she likes?

They're both awful. Who do you like more; Mordred or Morgana?

Minerva nods. The match goes on, a few more rounds, before she asks another question.

"It is imperative that we know if Miss Granger has shown violent tendencies before now," Minerva states, simply.

"We've all hit people," Mr. Weasley says, defensively.

"I have fought in a war, Mr. Weasley, and been a teenager; I am aware," Minerva's lips twitch again. "What I mean - is if she has ever gone overboard before. Disproportionate retribution."

"Oh," Mr. Weasley shrugs. "I don't... think so."

"Wellthen, give me an example, and why you don't think so." Minerva suggests.

"Okay," Ronald says. "She won't get - in trouble though. Don't get her in trouble."

"Mr. Weasley," Minerva sighs. "She's already in trouble. Miss Granger is... she's seventeen, Mr. Weasley."

Ronald stiffened. "She's not going to be -"

"No." Minerva pauses. "But, if I may, Mr. Weasley. It is very telling that you think she could be."

Ronald scowls. Minerva lets them finish the match without any more conversation; Mr. Weasley wins, but only just.

To be fair; if he could beat her at eleven, there is no reason five extra years of experience wouldn't help, and Minerva hasn't played much chess, recently. What with the Order, and all that being a memeber entails.

"Hermione's the one that cursed the DA sign-up sheet and didn't tell us," Mr. Weasley says. "Looking back on it... I dunno. There are better ways to stop people from talking, right? If she'd've used them, Marrietta wouldn't have been able to tattle at all."

"Quite right, Mr. Weasley." Minerva says. "Would you like to say anything else?"

"Not really." Mr. Weasley shrugs. Minerva nods. "Send in Mr. Potter," She asks, and he shrugs, leaves the room.

Mr. Potter enters, as Minerva is clearing away the chess set with a flick of her wand, and she nods to the armchair. "Sit," She tells him. Minerva floats over a tin. "Have a biscuit, Mr. Potter." She tells him, and he opens the tin and takes one.

"As I have looked through the memories of that night, part of which were taken from you yourself, we shall skip the preamble," Minerva states, and sits down across from him. "However - is there anything you would like to say, before we begin?"

Harry shakes his head, minutely. He clutches the biscuit in one hand, but doesn't eat it - Minerva takes a moment to take one from the tin herself, simply seeing that if she waits him out long enough, whether or not he will say something.

He does not. Minerva brushes crumbs from her robes, and inclines her head. "Very well," She says. "Mr. Potter, it is very difficult to pinpoint exactly what to consider you in regards to that evening. As you did not attempt to stop the birds at any point, or go after Miss Granger, I have half a mind to consider you on equal footing. However, there is also always the explanation of shock, which I find far more likely. And therefore, may I say; I am sorry that you had to see that."

"What?" Mr. Potter frowns at her, and Minerva sighs. "I dislike your relatives very greatly, Mr. Potter." Minerva looks straight at him, unflinchingly, but softens her voice, because she means it. "And because of your treatment from them, your reaction to this situation cannot be assesed in the same way as if, say, Miss Weasley had been present in the room in your stead."

"Why not?" Harry demands.

"Because Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley are the family you have chosen," Minerva says, simply. "You trust them not to act in a way that's difficult to deal with, and Miss Granger broke that trust. By way of surprise. From what I can gather of that night, Mr. Potter - you... went into shock, and didn't break it until you slept, I imagine. Miss Granger broke your and Mr. Weasley's trust, in her assault, and I ask that... that you prioritise feeling safe yourself. Being here..." Minerva says, slowly, "Is supposed to be a place where you need not - be wary of people like your relatives. Where you don't need to think about them. And I apologise that it has not been such, as of late."

The biscuit breaks in half in Harry's grip, but he doesn't say anything. He just looks angry, which Minerva expected. It is a sad fact, that many students over the years she has taught here were or are abused, and it is one that threatened to break her spirit, when she was younger. Now, it is all Minerva can do to help, even if all she can do, in this situation, is very little.

Arguing with Albus never solves anything.

The one thing Minerva has always wanted to do is start up a support group. But in the school's climate, it wouldn't work; nobody would trust the slytherin students, nobody would listen to the hufflepuffs, the ravenclaws would be too proud to come along, thinking they can deal with everything on their own because they've read a few psychology books, and the gryffindors... they'd be too angry to bother. All of them would feel patronised, and that doesn't help. When Minerva was young the muggles didn't deal well with abused children, and the wizards she's surrounded with now aren't much different.

"Mr. Potter," Minerva says, simply. "It is not your fault; it is not Mr. Weasley's most certainly; It is Miss Granger's, and Miss Granger's alone."

* * *

"Thought I'd find you here." Cho says, softly. 

"Chang," Terrance grins, face upside-down as he looks at her from his place on the couch. His voice is quieter than usual; considerate. More than she'd thought he'd be, but then, Cho doesn't really know him.

"Terry," Cho sits down on the other end of the couch. Marietta is curled up on a cot, her cloak bundled up under her head like a pillow.

"How is she?" Cho asks.

"Tired," Terrance says. "Overworked, scared."

Cho has the room move the cot and therefore Marietta carefully closer, then opens her bag and takes out the ointment. She brushes the girl's bangs back - the ones she got over summer, even though she'd never wanted a different haircut before then, but, of course, the scars changed that, like they changed a lot of things; her facial expressions, her view of herself, her morning and evening routine - and carefully applies the ointment to her face, taking extra care with the scars on her eyelids.

It's the little things; like she'll never wear eyeshadow again, probably. Cho remembers getting all dolled up for the yule ball, and feels a pang of sorrow, but it's softer than it was. Harsher, too; there's more than Cedric, these days, to be sad about. And according to her therapist, that's okay, but she can't let it control her. Depression is a slippery slope, she's been told, and while she doesn't quite have it, her therapist was defninitely one bad day for Cho away from diagnosing her with it those first few weeks, and still keeps a very sharp eye on that front.

Harry hated that she cried a lot, she knows - but her therapist is very good at her job, and when she'd told her about him, every little detail because... Cho had had to see where she went _wrong,_ it turns out they just - it hadn't been a good time for either of them. Harry'd been grieving in his own way - an unhealthy one brought on by... well.

If you'd ever gotten close to Harry, you'd realise very quickly his home life wasn't like what the books told you.

And Cho's been told _enough_ times that kissing under the mistletoe in front of a picture of her dead boyfriend probably wasn't a good sign. She _knows,_ okay? It's just getting old now.

"Never liked Granger much," Terrance says. "But god, I hate her."

Cho hadn't really cared either way - then Harry had ditched her for the other girl, and she'd gotten jealous... and now this.

"Me too." Cho says, quietly, as she caps the ointment and puts it away.

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love cho don't @ me


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has gone completely off the rails what is happening anymore I don't know you don't know this is going to be a surprise to all of us from now on any vague idea I had of the plot has jumped out the fucking window

"I have a proposition for you." 

Lavender turns around, surprised by the voice she hears. She remembers Marietta, remembers the scars she got, and her specific accent and tone of voice is quite the recognisable one. Though, Lavender  _has_ always been good at that sort of thing. 

"Marietta," Lavender smiles at the girl, cautiously. Propositions can be anything, after all. Lavender feels bad for her, of course, nobody should have to be disfigured for a stupid mistake, but, she's still the girl that told Umbridge. 

Though, lately, Lavender's been feeling a kind of internal kinship with anyone who's upset with Hermione Granger, for some wildly obvious reasons. 

So.

"What is it?" Lavender asks.

Marietta shifts on the spot, glances around. Lavender knows the students of this school pretty well; it helps to know gossip, always has done, and it helps now, that she knows the students in the room won't give a damn about whatever they talk about. 

Still. If Marietta's worried, there's no reason not to go somewhere more private. 

"Come on," Lavender says, and they leave the library - on the way out, Lavender checks out the book she was reading, it's very interesting; all about the tactics that people use in the wizarding world to gain favour with the ones on top, and why some work and some don't - then move in the direction of an empty classroom, of which the castle has plenty. 

Lavender wonders if Hogwarts was used to more students than this. It's so  _big,_ with so many rooms, but they're all old and dusty. Lavender's found quarters teachers must have used, she's found extra classrooms - one memorable hall, like it was meant for big magical displays, like duelling or large scale transfigurations, or... something else. 

Either way. 

"What is it?" Lavender asks. "I have divination soon, so..."

"We should start a magazine," Marietta says, straightening her shoulders. "We can't - we can't trust the daily prophet, and witch weekly doesn't exactly talk about the stuff that's going on, and nobody takes the quibbler seriously - so, so we should start a magazine. Everything happens in Hogwarts anyway. We're  _here._ Right here, with Harry Potter, and we've had - we've had everything happen  _right here._ You-Know-Who has been in the school! We. Need a way to get news around. To make sure everyone in the school knows the truth." Marietta looks at her, a little desperately. Her bangs have grown out since she got them - probably the day she went home - but they don't quite cover all the scars. Can't have her hair cover her eyes, after all, can she?

"We all deserve to know what's going on," Marietta states, firmly. "We didn't last year, and that's the problem. Potter and his friends keep everything they find out to themselves, no matter how important. Did you know in '92, that it was  _actually_ You-Know-Who that opened the chamber? And that his name is  _Tom Riddle,_ and he's a half-blood? There's so much they know that we don't. But we can find it out, and we can  _tell people,_ because knowledge is power, and people need that power now more than ever. If nothing else, knowing he's not a pureblood will destabilise his platform with those that sympathise with his 'motives'. And if we weaken the enemy, it's easier to fight them."

"We don't need a specific magazine for that," Lavender says, but she's considering it. "We can just make an article and spread it around."

"But if we make a magazine, and we make it  _accurate,_ we give people alternate media than the state-controlled Daily Prophet or the tabloids or the conspiracy theory rags." Marietta pushes. "And I know you know a lot of what goes on in this school, right, I know it. You and Parvati, you're both the ones people go to for gossip."

Well, she's not  _wrong._

"We need media we can trust," Marietta says. "The people that fell first last time were the ministry. We can't rely on them for our information,  _we can't."_

"Wartime underground media," Lavender murmurs. 

Marietta blinks at her.

"Alright." Lavender straightens her posture and nods. "Alright."

Marietta grins. 

* * *

"Won-won," Lavender hums. "Can I ask you something?"

"What?" Ron asks, looking up from the chess match he's playing against Harry. Lavender closes her copy of the latest witch weekly - her horoscope is looking good this week - and smiles at him. Lavender ignores the snickers she hears at the nickname she gives him, and shrugs lightly. "Marietta and I - and Parvati and a few others - are starting up a magazine. Because the prophet can't be trusted, you know," Lavender says, a little quietly. People will eavesdrop, but she wants them too. Still, making it harder for them will also make the act more enjoyable. She finds it works like that, anyway. "And I was wondering if you could give a statement about a few things that have happened."

"Why not Harry?" Ron asks. Harry raises an eyebrow at them both. "Why are you doing this in the first place?" He asks. 

"Because," Lavender says. "We want to show that everyone's getting caught up in this mess. We want to show people that it's - that it could be anyone that's attacked next, and if Harry's the only one giving statements, well. Its  _Harry Potter._ People read books about your adventures all the time."

"Wait  _what."_

Lavender blinks at him. "You - I would have - oh, I'm so sorry, Harry," She says, sympathetically. "I thought Granger would have told you by now - there are books about you. Fact and fiction. Parvati hasn't lived here all her life, but - well, magical India and magical Britain trade a lot of stuff. She used to read them when she was a kid. I read one or two, before Hogwarts. Half-blood, you know. Most fiction books don't focus on people like us, you know, the muggle raised - or mostly muggle raised, so it was nice to see."

"She said she'd read books," Harry says, faintly. "Back in first year."

"Before first year," Ron says. "Checkmate."

Harry's king is smashed into pieces. He shrugs. 

"How come you never told me?" Harry asks. Ron winces.

"Ginny," Ron says. "Read all of them, once she could. Mum used to read them to us when we were younger, but I went onto comic books instead. Marvin the Mad Muggle, you know, some secondhand ones from the local comic book store. Muggle ones are a bit cheaper since the conversion rate is so - high."

"High, it's  _ridiculous."_ Lavender frowns at the floor. "a fiver to a galleon.  _Dumb._ You can sell a galleon in the muggle world for more than that, they're  _gold."_

Ron shrugs. "S'why we have a lot of muggle stuff in the house. Closer, cheaper. Dad - makes 'em work like store-bought does."

"Oh." Harry blinks. "Okay."

Ron shrugs again, ears a little red. Lavender will  _praise_ those insecurities out of him, so help her  _God._

"Anyway." Lavender looks pleadingly at Ron. "A statement for The Sneak, please?"

"Ah," Harry says, an immediate reaction. "Marietta."

"Make it a badge of honour instead of the brand of a traitor," Lavender agrees. "Common tactic."

Harry blinks at her. 

"What?" She asks. "What did I say? I'm not  _that_ airheaded, you know. I know things."

"Right," Harry says. 

* * *

 

"Granger." 

Hermione turns her head towards the voice. It's - Boot. He's in her arithmancy class. 

"Terry," She says, nods to him. "What is it?" She asks. Hermione's got - an essay due on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and two Friday. Thanks to... her detentions. Which are on Friday, at precisely eight o'clock. They last an hour or two, depending. Or, they will. She's only had two so far, and they've just been... reviewing. Breaking down any vindication she felt - and, and she didn't, not  _really,_ just... she was upset, and angry, and...

 _Brilliant but scary._ That's what Ron called her, sometimes. She'd never reall thought she deserved the second one, and that it rather diminished the first's complementary nature, but, well. 

Maybe she did. 

Just a little. 

"We want a statement," Terry says. "From you. On what happened."

Hermione tenses. "When?" She asks, feigning ignorance. It rankles, because Hermione is never ignorant, but. Well. Okay, maybe sometimes, but _generally_ she's not. 

"Throughout the years," Terry says, simply. "Look, we both know I'd rather not be talking to you, but, needs must, and we need your side of the last six years. You were  _there,_ which is more than most of us."

"What are you on about?" Hermione frowns at him, turns properly away from her work. Does it need a few more inches, maybe - oh, eight? that might fit everything and yes it's over the twelve asked for but the information is vitally important to her thesis - but this seems more important. She has a hunch. 

"Don't play dense, Granger," Terry says, pulling out a chair and sitting down. He lounges, like he does in class, and that still rubs her the wrong way, but Hermione can ignore it. It's not her problem if he gets in trouble, is it? Still, Professor Vector is exceedingly lenient, which - has always vaguely annoyed Hermione. There's very little professionalism in her class, and... well, Hermione supposes many students like that, but Hermione needs structure like she needs air to breathe. Raise your hand to answer a question, but in Arithmancy you just yell it out - and Vector doesn't really take points, says it's pointless - Professor Vector is a fan of puns, though given her last name you could probably tell this - but she gives them for right answers, doesn't bother for quick ones, because... Hermione isn't sure? You didn't need to think as much. You just knew it. Maybe? But that doesn't make  _sense -_

"I'm not playing  _dense,"_ Hermione says, affronted. 

"We want a statement from you about the last six years," Terry says, flatly. "How does that not make sense?"

"What  _for,_ though?" Hermione demands. "I'm not just going to tell you our secrets - I'm no sneak."

"Don't be a dick, Granger," Terry says, and Hermione gasps lightly.

"Seriously?" He says. "You're friends with  _Weasley._ Unless he doesn't swear around you, I guess." Terry shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. Point is, we're doing a tell-all on Tommy boy's history, and the last six years are pretty blank on general accounts, so, we need you three's details on the events. Any books on Voldy's rise to power are way wrong, mostly because they don't know who he was before he was ' _The Dark Lord',"_ Terry says, sarcastically. "So we're making a magazine. More trustworthy than the prophet, more useful than the quibbler. Something with a good rep for good journalism, nothing about ministry control or conspiracy theories."

"Oh, well then," Hermione nods. "Okay. What do you need to know? I'll need to prepare - I need to review the details, don't want to give you incorrect information -"

"Great," Terry interrupts, standing. "Next sunday? We've got other stuff to work out first, but, I'll find you. See you then." And he's gone.

Hermione frowns after him, then shrugs, and gets back to work. She's distracted by thoughts about her last six years at Hogwarts, by trying to figure out what to say and how to say it, how to pass over things that would get them all in trouble like Norbert and the Polyjuice and - everything else illegal that they've done, but... not right now. She's got a week, which isn't  _nearly_ enough time, but, she's got a week. Hermione needs to finish this homework. She does. She can write about her last six years later.

Hermione sighs, pushes aside her homework, and opens a new roll of parchment. 

* * *

"So, we've got everything about Riddle up to '81," Terry says, tapping his fingers against the side of his typewriter. "But - do you guys know anything in the ten-year break before your first year?"

"He was in Albania, I think," Harry says. "He was - trying to find ways to... get a body back for those ten years. Eventually came across Quirrell, and.. then, well, that was that."

It's a Saturday. The one before Marietta is going to have to keep her cool around Hermione Granger, given the next day is going to be that scheduled Sunday, but Marietta is professional when she needs to be. She can put that out of her mind.

"His followers did all the shit that got in the papers," Ron says. "Some got away. Like Pettigrew." He looks angry, and she notes it down. "What happened to him?" Marietta asks. "There's a lot of details missing from Black's post-mortem acquittal." 

"He was the secret keeper, you know, betrayed my parents," Harry says. "Blew up the street, pinned the blame on Sirius, then fled. Found himself down south, and hid with a wizarding family in rat form."

"My family," Ron says, heavily. "He hid as our pet rat for - ages. Magical rats live for ages, so we thought he was just a wild one - but..."

"Oh." Marietta frowns. "Well, that's not cool."

"No, it's not." Harry agrees. "Anyway. Third-year - that's when we all find out everything about Sirius and Pettigrew and all that, so -"

"First-year first," Terry agrees. "Alright. So, Tommy possesses Quirrell before your first year?"

"Uh, he got him first," Harry says. "Hit him with the, uh, 'there's no good and evil, only power and those that choose to use it' bullshit, and... I guess Quirrell was a - pretty bad person, because he listened. And he joined Voldemort, then... uh, Voldemort, he didn't possess Quirrell until after he failed to steal the Philosopher's Stone from the vault in Gringotts. Happened the day me and Hagrid went to Diagon - just after Hagrid retrieved the stone from the vault."

"How'd you know he wasn't possessed?" Terry asks.

"No turban, and - and he could shake my hand," Harry says. "When Voldemort -back then, because of my mother's protection, he couldn't touch me. So, when he possessed someone, it... well, touch burned. A lot."

"You were in the hospital wing at the end of the year," Terry nods. "Right, okay, that makes sense. Could you tell us the timeline for the year? What happened and when?"

"Sure," Harry says. Ron nods, and they do.

* * *

Marietta's not an idiot, so when the two leave, she immediately sets about removing the evidence of illegal activity from the tell-all. Look, she wants to tell everyone about Voldemort. She's not going to get these idiots in trouble because they do dumb shit in order to find out about Tommy's plans. 

"Man, they get up to a lot, don't they?" Terrance says rhetorically, sifting through his many sheets of paper, all covered on both sides with neatly printed, small-ish text.

"Shame wizards don't trust typewriters," Marietta says, shaking her hand. Holding a quill and writing feverishly for most of the day is not an activity she recommends. "Or we could just type out the magazine."

"I mean, it's more of a newspaper, isn't it?" Terry muses. "You know, you could have just used a dicta-quill."

"Too much like Skeeter," Marietta dismisses. "I'll transcribe later. Point being,  _what the fuck."_

"I know, right?" Terry looks at his table, completely covered in stacks of paper. "I mean..." He puts the papers he's holding down, and stares. "This is going to take a while."

"How are they still alive?" Marietta demands of no-one, flicking through her own notes. "I mean -  _how?_ First-year alone they could've died like twenty times."

"Granger's lucky the Polyjuice didn't kill her," Terry agrees. "She only looked a bit like a cat - I've heard horror stories of innards being changed up..."

"I mean, just look at this!" Marietta shoves a roll of parchment in his face. "Their odds in the battle of the DOM were slim to none! six teenagers against the might of way, way more experienced death eaters! Ron had to fight, like, four of them! Or something! Hermione got hit with a nasty fucking curse! What the fuck!"

"I know!" Terry stands, starts pacing. "No wonder they started up the DA - though, I am a bit surprised it was Granger's idea-"

"I'm miffed she's the one who had such a good idea," Marietta agrees standing. "But that's just personal - the more important thing is how little they actually taught us, like fuck! the four years previous and they didn't - I mean, look, what they did teach was great, but there's so much more they could have taught us, like, I didn't know about dark marks! I didn't know they were a thing! If they'd have taken us to the chamber at least once I think we'd have all had an easier time of actually believing them, frankly - or, hell, this is the room of requirement! Just - require something that proves  _something._ We were all running fucking blind! That's the point of this, right? That's our point. People need to know, or they're just scared and confused and they make all the wrong fucking  _choices._ They could've told us some of this, just  _some_ of it. I'd have - I'd have been less fucking  _scared._ "

"I don't know," Terry says, "I don't know how they managed all that. I mean - I was - I've always been a little impressed with them, you know, from the rumours, but - fuck, they were  _kids,_ Marietta, Mari, Harry killed a man in self-defence when he was  _eleven,_ fuck,  _no wonder he's messed up,_ Jesus -"

"God," Marietta says, flopping down onto the couch that had replaced her desk chair. "Fuck."

"Yeah." Terry agrees, calming down. "Fuck."

* * *

"Thank you." Lavender says. 

Ron looks over at her. "Thank you," She repeats. "I know - I know you don't trust Marietta - but, we all... there's so much we don't know. And... and we deserve to. If Hogwarts - if it isn't safe, we shouldn't have to be - ignorant of that."

"It's Hogwarts," Ron says, simply. "It's never been safe."

"No, I guess not," Lavender sits, quietly, next to him, pulls his arm across her shoulders and leans into his side. "I wish it was."

"Yeah," Ron says. "Be nice, wouldn't it?"

"You're very brave, you know," Lavender says. "Everything you've done. And you're smart, too, or you - you wouldn't still be  _here."_ Her voice breaks, a little, on the last word. She's been thinking about it since Marietta gave her the gemino-ed notes, been mulling over it and obsessing over - over how often Ron could have died. How she could have never - never even said hi. Never known him, never kissed him, never - never had the chance to be his friend, his girlfriend, nothing, not anything, because he'd have been  _dead._

"Hey," Ron turns to face her. "Hey, Lav, look at me." 

She does, and he smiles, and god, he's just - he's beautiful. He really is. A good heart, a good soul. 

"I am, though, aren't I?" He says. "I'm not going to not be here any time soon."

Lavender lets her hands rest lightly on his arms. His sleeves are rolled up because they aggravate the scars a bit, and she feels the bumps of them under her fingers. The strange smoothness of the brain's leftovers, the rough texture from the canaries' beaks and claws. 

"Just about." She says, quiet. 

Ron shrugs, a little. "But still here."

"I'm glad I got to know you," Lavender says. "I just - wish it was sooner. I... I guess I just - tell me when things are going down, okay?" She pleads. "Don't - don't just go off without me. I can help."

"I..." Ron looks straight at her, through her, then he nods, minutely. "Okay." He says. "Okay."

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> but now there's a tell-all magazine with Voldy's name on it. Literally. Everyone's going to know he's Tommy boy now. Oh dear god, the plot. The plot!! Think of the plot. 
> 
> (I did not think of the plot. It just happened. Now everyone's a sneak. Heh.)
> 
> (Also finally some Ronvender it's not like it's been a whole eight chapters since the last helping, good lord, I'm sorry.)


	10. December.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Christmas shenanigans.

It had taken little time, after the interview, for the snow to start falling on Hogwarts. Hagrid could be seen choosing trees from the forest for the great hall in a few weeks' time, while students stopped thinking about their homework and started turning their thoughts to  _oh god, what am I going to get everyone this year?_

Unless, of course, they don't celebrate Christmas; there are lots of secular students at Hogwarts - something to do with the Witch Burnings, also just normal general atheists and agnostics - there are pagans, who celebrate Yule, and there are, well, those that follow Hinduism and Judaism - though, muggle religions tend to have fewer followers. 

It's just a pattern Parvati's noticed, that she told Lavender and that Lavender has observed then on. Eastern religions tend to have the fewest followers - as in, far eastern, like Aisa (not India), but also middle eastern - there aren't really any followers of Islam, for example. Like,  _maybe_ one, or two. And they're muggle-borns, the both - or the one - of them. There are a fair few Sikhs, by contrast, but only two of those aren't muggle-born. 

Lavender thinks it's just, like, relations. Maybe. 1600s when the statute went up and immigration generally was - less, then. Muggle Britain had a lot of incoming people from India in the industrial era, she's pretty sure - well, Parvati's pretty sure, anyway, and Lavender's inclined to believe Parvati on her knowledge because she's better at history than Lavender is. Plus, Hogwarts doesn't accept foreign students, just those from the British isles. Anyway, the point is - it's Christmas soon, and Lavender's one of those people mildly panicking about present giving. 

What's she going to get  _Ron?_

* * *

While many students are having a very lighthearted time, there is a blonde Slytherin, working overtime to reach a certain  _goal._

* * *

Marietta figured the magazine would be finished by Christmas, which would be a nice present for the wizarding world - the total and complete ripping away of the wool covering their eyes. 

They've needed a wake-up call for a while, Marietta knows. She's only known this for a short time, and that's unfortunate, but at least now - now she has the drive to do what's needed. Terry egging her on is a part of it, she supposes. 

Marietta finishes putting the cream on her scars, then waits for it to sink in before she returns to the dorm. She finishes getting dressed, picks up her bag - it's heavy with the weight of books on journalism and buisness and blah blah blah - then makes her way out of the Ravenclaw tower. Terrance is waiting, leaning against the wall opposite the door, and nods at her in greeting.

"Mari," He says, "I've got a deal with the printing company you picked out," He tells her, which is a total and complete relief. "All we need now -"

"Finish up the last two articles," She nods, "Get the photographs off of Creevey." 

Terry nods. Marietta smiles, pleased. 

"Not too long now," She says. Terrance grins at her, the lenses of his sunglasses glinting from the sunlight that streams in through the castle windows. 

"Why do you wear those?" Marietta asked, carefully. Terrance's grin faltered, minutely, as he shrugged. 

"I like them," He said, which was a half-truth, Marietta was sure. That wasn't the reason, but it was a true statement. 

"Alright," Marietta says. "Perfectly valid."

Terrance smiles, probably pleased she didn't pry. They arrive at Charms, and the subject is dropped.

Marietta won't demand other people's secrets. She doesn't want to put people in the same position she was put into - and, honestly... she'd rather Terry told her the truth when he  _wants_ to. 

Trust, Marietta thinks. It's a hard commodity to come by. She trusts  _him,_ which is almost surprising, but - Marietta supposes she's grateful. Other than Cho, Terrance is one of the very, very few people that don't grimace when they look at her. 

It's nice. Not to be hated. 

* * *

Harry is staying for the holidays, to be on the safe side. Hermione is not - Ron is. Ginny isn't, at least, not for the whole time. 

"It's just not safe," Ginny said, frankly. "We're blood traitors. The wards are solid, but I'd rather be able to go flying when I want to. I've got permission to visit Luna - but mostly, I'd rather stay."

Harry looked at Ron, who shrugged. Alright then.

It was - a time. Harry hadn't seen Hermione outside of class, and he feels a traitorous sort of gratefulness for the distance. He's not sure why, except that he is, and he really doesn't like thinking about it. 

He has to, though. 

A few hours later, he's in Professor McGonagall's office, eating a biscuit. 

"From the sessions with Miss Granger," His teacher says, "I understand your reaction more." She stirs her tea. "I want you to understand, Harry, that it is perfectly understandable, given your situation, to be affected by what Miss Granger did."

She's said things to this effect before, in other sessions. Harry takes another bite from his biscuit. The professor sighs. 

"I want to ask you a few questions, Mr. Potter," McGonagall says. Harry looks up at her. Her expression is pinched, lips thin. "Alright," Harry says, warily.

She nods, summons a quill and some parchment, and sets about writing down his answers. 

"For posterity's sake; when Miss Granger attacked Mr. Weasley, what caused you to act as a bystander to the incident?"

Harry stiffened. "Surprise," He said. 

"Mr. Potter," His teacher sighed, "As your teacher, and as someone who is well aware of your exploits over the last six years, I know you are perfectly capable in situations of sudden violence." 

"It was surprise," Harry said, firmly. "And... I didn't know what to do, after."

"Yes," McGonagall said, "I saw."

Harry winced.

A pause, silence filled with the scratching of the professor's quill.

"Next; What did you observe of Miss Granger's behaviour regarding the incident prior to it being brought to the attention of the staff?"

"Um, well, she wasn't - she was upset," Harry said. "And angry. And she didn't seem like she felt... guilty or anything."

McGonagall nodded. "Understood," She said, pressing harder with her quill, the words coming out slightly blotchier than before. 

Harry figured this was going in a report or something. Professor McGonagall had asked these questions before, or at least, similar ones, but she hadn't written anything down, then. 

"Now, I know the following questions will make you feel uncomfortable, Mr. Potter," Her expression softened. "But, please, if you would, answer honestly."

Harry nodded. 

"Firstly; would you consider yourself afraid of Miss Granger?"

"No," Harry said, automatically, defensively, and McGongall's gaze was sharp, assessing. "Well, she's brilliant," Harry said, "Very smart, you know. So, she knows things we don't. Spells and all that. So, um, Ron's said - a few times  - that she's, um, brilliant, but scary."

"And you?" McGonagall asked, probing. 

"She's uh, never rounded on me," Harry said. "I don't know if she would, after... that. And I'm - not  _scared,_ but -"

"Mr. Potter," The transfiguration professor said, sharply, looking straight at him. "I need your honesty at this moment."

"Maybe." Harry said. "I don't know. Happy?"

"No, Mr. Potter, none of this pleases me," McGongall said. "Next; do you think Miss Granger would attack Mr. Weasley again?"

"... no," Harry said, slowly. "She's... avoided us, lately."

"Miss Granger hasn't been avoiding you, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said, "She's following instructions. Miss Granger is not to interact with you both, until the time comes that we, as staff, believe it to be safe for all parties involved."

"Oh." Harry turned his biscuit around in his hands. "Right."

"Final question," McGonagall said, "If you are willing."

"Alright," Harry said. 

"If Miss Granger were to be in this room now," The professor said, "And I was not present, and no consequences were to be had - would you seek revenge?"

"No," Harry said. McGonagall nodded. "That is all," She said. 

"Great," Harry said, unenthusiastically.

* * *

Hermione looked down at the two rolls of parchment, Harry and Ron's answers to the questions glaring up at her, accusingly. Professor McGonagall's hands are clasped, on the desk.

"We shall go over Mr Weasley's first," Her teacher said, nodding to the parchment on the left. "Though Mr. Potter's do give insight, so we shall use them as some minor context."

Hermione nodded, miserably.

"Do you remember the context of Mr. Weasley's statements regarding you being 'brilliant, but scary?'"

"Um," Hermione said, "The first time we were eleven." She hesitated. "It was... the evening we went to try and protect the stone. I used  _petrificus totalus_ on Neville. Which is... part of why he got those points at the end of the year."

"I see." McGonagall's lips thinned. "You are particularly lucky, Miss Granger, that that can be excused given the situation at the time." 

Hermione bowed her head. 

"Are there any other occasions?" McGonagall said. "We need to know, in case any of this is leaked."

"I slapped Malfoy in third year," Hermione said. "He was disparaging Hagrid. It was Buckbeak's trial day." Hermione swallowed. "I cursed the DA parchment. I didn't tell anyone. Marietta's scars are from her telling Umbridge about us." 

"As you are an adult, Miss Granger," McGonagall said, "I have come up with something that might impose on you the severity of your actions if they were to be found out by the greater public; we will conduct a mock trial. Veritaserum included if you are willing."

"I'm willing," Hermione said. "But - there are things from the -"

"Which is why you  _must not_ do anything that would get you put before the Wizengamot, Miss Granger," McGonagall said, sharply. "The secrets you know are - unsafe in the hands of the Death Eaters and their sympathisers."

"I know," Hermione said. 

"I'm not sure you do, Miss Granger." McGonagall's mouth thinned further. "I'm not sure you do."

* * *

Tracey Davis is a half-blood. This is a problem, because she is a  _Slytherin,_ and in this day and age, the former is a dangerous thing, while the latter is true. 

What is also a problem, is that she is stuck. 

Being approached by a Ravenclaw in the library is a fairly normal thing. What is not normal is the brand covering her face,  _SNEAK_ written out in all caps. Tracey recognises the handwriting - she's copied Granger's notes with a whispered  _gemino_ many times before. Sue her; the girl takes  _extensive_ notes, and Tracey's writing leaves a lot to be desired. 

"Edgecombe," Tracey greets. Everyone knows who she is. Gossip spreads fast, and Granger looks smug every time she sees the Ravenclaw. A vindicated sort of smugness, mildly sadistic in its nature, but smug all the same. Tracey doesn't really like traitors.  _Slytherin is where you'll find your real friends_ and all that. Frankly, it's a real shame her house doesn't live up to the better half of its reputation.

A real shame. 

"I have a proposition for you," Edgecombe says, as she slides into the seat opposite Tracey. Tracey raises an eyebrow at her, in prompt, and the girl continues. "We're starting a magazine. To tell the truth as it is, about everything that's gone on or is going on. The prophet is corrupt, the quibbler isn't respected, and the other rags aren't trustworthy. Witch Weekly isn't political, and the rest are either known for being purist nonsense or full of lies."

"And?" Tracey asks. 

"We need an editor," Marietta says. "I've done the first issue, but I'm a journalist, first and foremost. Terry and I can own the magazine - but we can't run it alone. It's not possible if we want everything to go smoothly... and quickly. I'd like to hire you to put the articles and the photographs together into the magazine - as the editor. I can pay you some up-front pay," Marietta adds, "But most of your salary will come from the eventual profits, so I understand if it isn't stable enough for you to agree."

"No business starts without risk," Tracey states. She turns the page in the book she's referencing, dips her quill into the ink, Tracey writes a sentence, then looks back up at Marietta. "So I design the magazine?"

"I know you're into that sort of thing," Marietta says. "Aesthetics. I'm not really an arty sort of person, and Terrance isn't either. Creevey only does photography - and that's it for the staff. Parvati and Lavender are contractors who find out trails for us to follow, but they don't work on the magazine full-time. Dean designed the logo, but I can't afford to hire too many Gryffindors."

"You need a Slytherin," Tracey states. 

"Yes." Marietta nods. "More than one. Hopefully, if this takes off, we'll have people from all houses. We need to."

"Bias," Tracey nods. "I understand." She looks down at her parchment. One more inch and she'll have finished the herbology homework. 

"Alright." Tracey nods. She looks back up. "Pay me by the hour."

"We can't afford much yet," Marietta admits. "Hourly pay - we can pay about, in terms of an entire day's work, nine-til-three, we could pay about fifty quid. Maybe."

"Alright." Tracey nods. "Galleons?"

"Less," Marietta says. "Five quid to a galleon. So about -"

"Ten," Tracey purses her lips. Well, she's got other jobs, too. "Alright, sure."

"Great," Marietta smiles, but only slightly. Tracey imagines a full grin hurts, with the placement of those scars. 

"What's it called?" Tracey asks.

"The Sneak." Marrieta states. Tracey laughs.

* * *

The holidays are upon them very quickly, and suddenly Gryffindor tower is very empty. 

"I see no reason why we all can't just hang out in the room," Ginny says. "There are only a few people here. And - we can make the room into whatever we want. Why not use it as a play to stay?"

"I mean, that does make sense," Fay Dunbar, the other Gryffindor girl from Harry's year, states, shrugging.

Well, they're not wrong. The room can provide pretty much anything - arenas, cosy sitting rooms, wide, open halls for things like flying... anything you can think of, the room can provide.

"We could have had a much better base, couldn't we?" Ginny states, when she finds out the room can provide secret passageways. "Why the hell didn't we figure out what this place could  _do_ before we settled with the DA's hall?"

Harry shrugs. "Not sure," He admits. 

"Well," Ginny looks at him. "At least we can do it now."

Harry sighs. "We don't -"

"We  _do."_ Ginny's voice is firm, unyielding. "The DA was important. It still is. We need to know how to defend ourselves and let's be honest, Snape isn't a good teacher. He never has been. So let's teach ourselves, again."

Harry sighs. He looks at the wall, and Ginny must have called up the old DA board because Cedric's picture is there, along with the other ones. Those lost. 

"Alright," Harry said. "Fine."

Ginny nodded. She placed a hand on his shoulder, briefly, softly, and walked away, leaving Harry to his own thoughts.

* * *

 


	11. Christmas.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's that time of the year. Oh dear god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> laks;jd;glks merry Christmas y'all

Christmas is fast approaching, and the hall is constantly filled with the sounds of hooting owls, from students receiving and sending off presents. Some students are still ordering presents, which is putting them into a real frenzy - given the big day is only a couple, well, _days_ away.

Fay is scribbling on the twelfth card in her too-tall pile of various Christmas cards - something she has to get completed and sent off by, oh, tomorrow. She's fretting, of course, she is - why wouldn't she be? But that's not the only reason.

... Look, Fay doesn't really.... well, she doesn't have many friends. Lavender and Parvati are very nice, of course, but they're also very close, and Fay doesn't like to intrude - plus, they're so popular, and Fay just... she's not one for attention. She thought, maybe, in the beginning, she might be okay with Hermione, but the girl went and got very popular friends herself, and Fay couldn't stand walking around next to _the_ Harry Potter every day, her heart couldn't take it, at least when she was eleven. She's a lot sturdier now, at sixteen, and her heart doesn't pound as much when talking to people - but there's still that nervousness. Her stutter's gone, but she still feels like it's there in her head.

But now she's alone with _Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley -_ dear god. The number of absolutely _incredible people_ she's having _conversations,_ real fucking _conversations_ with, is just, dear god. She might actually die.

And they've been so _nice._ Okay, maybe Harry's kinda awkward in person, but that's probably just a response to Fay's intermittent ineptitude when it comes to social interaction and anyway it's kind of cute - and Ginny... well Ginny's really very _pretty_ and Fay can't look her in the eye most days, and Ron - well, okay, similarly - and - right, Fay is a complete disaster of a human being, she knows that. She's just _weak_ to kind people.

Fay really wants more friends. And she'd like these very lovely people to _be_ those friends. Fay's hyper-aware of how pretty she finds a lot of people, right, because her mum keeps pointing it out, and whenever her mum talks about Fay getting _married in the future_ and giving her _grandkids to spoil,_ Fay has to hide in her room for a week. It's _embarrassing_ and _inaccurate,_ but - whatever.

Her mum just doesn't get it. Doesn't get her, really, but that's... kind of mutual? Her dad's better. Kinder about it, at least, and Fay wishes kind of too often he'd been the one that got custody, but that's mean because Fay's the only one out of her siblings that prefers their dad. It'd be unfair to them - to Keiran and Holly and little Jack. It would. 

(Well, to be fair, Jack is kind of too young to care either way, but - he didn't cry when dad was kicked out, and that probably means something, right?)

(Fay did. Her mum had scowled about it, and Holly had sneered at her then slammed the door to their room in her face. Fay took their dad's old office, because - well, he didn't live with them anymore, and if she hadn't she's not sure what her mum would've done with it. Probably burn the furniture.)

(Kieran was nicer about it, but he still told her to 'suck it up', just, you know, kindly.)

Anyway!

Fay is fretting a bit more than usual - she's got _too many family members she doesn't know and is expected to write a card to each individual one, what the fuck, mum, why can't we sent the Caroll-Blythes a joint card, that'd take at least fourteen names off the list (Dan and Marie had a lot of kids) -_ but that's for a valid reason, and it's one she's previously mentioned.

She'd like these people to be her friends because she doesn't have many. Or. Well, any. Which she was fine with! Was - was being the operative term. She _was_ fine with it, for six years, but goddamnit. Fay is allowed to want friends, and she's not about to let her mother's _opinions_ on Fay's _feelings_ stop that.

She doesn't want to date _anyone._ She just wants fucking _friends._

Is that so bad?

Fay takes more care with the next few cards, which she signs to Harry, to Ron, to Ginny, to - everyone who's staying in the Room, this Christmas holiday. Fay's used to a big family - a few more names isn't going to break her wrist, and at least these people she _likes._

Fay takes as much care with these cards - in picking and in signing - as she did with her Dad's, which is always the first she does, followed by her siblings' and then her mum's. It shows how much she cares, she thinks, about being friends with these people, that she takes the same time with the writing of the cards and the picking of them as she does with the one she's gotten for her dad.

Fay smiles down at the card, finishing the little doodle of a sleepy Christmas kitten. They're cute. And the only thing she can draw is cats, so, it's her failsafe. She hopes Ginny will like the card - it's one from that quidditch line a few years back, so it's a bit out of date, but Fay's not sure she could go wrong with the Hollyhead Harpies. Ginny's a quidditch girl, after all, and she's seen her wearing their pins.

"Hey, Fay," Lavender says, and Fay looks up to see the girl's brilliant smile spread across her face. Why must the world torture Fay like this? She wants to hug her and never let go and officiate at this girl's goddamn wedding. Argh, now Fay wants to get ordained.

Goddamnit.

"Hi," Fay smiles back. "You need something?"

"Just wondering if you're allergic to anything," Lavender's smile has _dimples_ at the corners, for fuck's sake. She's _adorable._ Fay wants to congratulate Ron on such a wonderful girlfriend, and then congratulate Lavender on such a wonderful boyfriend; Lavender leaned into Ron's side a minute ago, and he put his arm around her shoulder automatically. It's so fucking _cute,_ Fay can't deal. She wants to protect them from literally everything in the history of the universe, even though Fay's got noodle arms and can't cast any offensive spells to save her life. Literally. She's got the _worst_ marks in DADA, and thank fuck for small mercies in not needing to take it, next year.

Snape isn't helping. Obviously.

"Oh," Fay smiles. "Peanuts, but nothing else."

Lavender nods. "I'll be careful, then," She says and gives Fay one last smile before returning to her own pile of cards to sign.

Oh. Fay realises Lavender was making sure, if she bought her chocolate or something food-related for Christmas, that Fay wouldn't immediately die. That's so sweet, what the hell.

Fay ducks her head down further, and starts scratching out names and well wishes onto less important cards. Bob, Brian, Brenda, Linda, Corey, Hilda, Lauren, Linda (the other one - they share the same last name too, ugh), Chris, Christopher, Christian, Christie (Too many _Chrises,_ she always mixes them up), Terri, Jerri, Lorelai, Ben, Leia (yes, _Leia,_ like _Leia Organa,_ don't ask)...

Fay grimaces, shakes out her wrist, then carries on. 

* * *

Harry is - surprise of all surprises - called up to Dumbledore's office. That was sarcastic, of course; Harry's been randomly called to the Headmaster's tower fairly often over the year, what with learning about young You-Know-Who's life before being, well, _You-Know-Who._

What? Ginny shouldn't know that? Who gives a shit; Ron and his friends aren't exactly _subtle,_ talking about this stuff in the _Great Hall_ and the _Gryffindor Common Room._ Ginny's honestly pretty surprised the news hasn't spread further than their House, though she probably shouldn't jinx it; it'd just do, for her to think that, and then when the hols are over for Malfoy and his cronies to gain wind of this information and start yelling across the hall about it.

Ginny doesn't want to hear _another_ shouting match at _seven in the morning._ Harry and Malfoy can fight all they want, Ginny'll even help if Harry wants because Malfoy's a dick and he deserves to be yelled at, but _not_ while Ginny's trying to eat her bacon, and Colin's putting up a decent attempt at not falling asleep into his porridge, and Neville's snoring away on his empty plate because his roommates are... not exactly considerate people when it comes to reasonable sleep schedules.

Sometimes Ginny would rather the Slytherin table be moved next to the Gryffindor one if only so people wouldn't have to shout so loud. She gets that enough at home when one of the twins' pranks goes off at five in the bloody morning - before even the _roosters_ can be bothered to crow. Still, she slaps herself mentally before she can get attached to the idea, because she knows if that _were_ to occur, there would be _more_ shouting and potential bloodbaths - and while Ginny's always down for a good fight, mind, she's not down for damaging her vocal cords before she's fully woken up.

Anyway. Harry's not there, at breakfast, and neither is the Headmaster - but Ron and Lavender are, and Fay just ran in - with feathers in her hair, so she likely just came from the owlery - and Neville is sat next to Ginny, looking rather well-rested, and blah blah blah. It's too early for Ginny to bother cataloguing everyone at the table, she'll do it later.

Fay drops onto a free space on the bench. The tables have been pushed together, because there's not all that many of them here, this holiday, but there's enough that there are still groups of people hanging out, clustered together in little cliques. Fay starts plating her food, gives Ginny a smile in greeting. Ginny offers a tired one in return, as she pours herself some pumpkin juice.

"Christmas cards and presents all done?" Fay asks. She plucks a feather from her head, scrunching her nose up at it. She's shorter than Ginny if that's possible (and it is, Ginny's only short by her family's standards, really, and most of her siblings are over six feet tall, to say the least - five foot two isn't really that tiny) and more of a mousy auburn than ginger, but she's got the freckles to match. Her eyes are a muddy sort of hazel green, almond-shaped, and she's got a wide jaw, stubby nose, but she's cute in an adorable way. Her mouth's more full than most, her chin's kinda... non-existent, but. Yeah, she's adorable, Ginny would punch someone in the face before she'd let anyone insult the girl. Mostly... well, Ginny just feels kind of bad for her. She's not had friends for the last _six years._ What the fuck?

So, maybe her kindness and affection for the older Gryff are borne out of a bit of pity, but that's no reason to say it isn't genuine. Ginny's always glad to have more friends, good ones, and Fay seems that kind.

"Yeah," Ginny nods. "All sent off." Luckily Ginny only has to bother with - her family, so seven, then Harry, Luna, Colin... - twelve or so gifts and cards, not quite the mountain she's seen Fay toil at since the start of the break. 

"Me too," Fay says, with clear and obvious sheer relief. "I won't have to look at another card until..." She sighs, dropping her head down. "January third," She says, morosely. "Fuck, I _always_ forget it's Maggie's and Mark's birthdays then..."

Ginny pats her shoulder sympathetically, and the girl's head snaps up, cheeks flushing. "Don't mind me!" She manages. "Sorry, um, it's early," She laughs, vaguely. "I'm knackered."

"Honestly? Same," Ginny nods, turning back to her food. Fay relaxes, poking at her sausages with reluctant fervour. "OWLs are coming up for me, in summer."

"Oh god," Fay looks over, "Shit, I forgot, you're a fifth year." She winces. "Not, not that that's - oh god, I just, 'cause you went with Harry last year and - and I don't really remember you _not_ being there my first year - I'm going to shut up now," She looks down at her bangers and mash, then realises her plate his already three-quarters empty, because of how doggedly she'd been attacking the meal thus far. "Um," She says, before shoving some more food into her mouth. Ginny thinks it's probably to avoid her own perceived embarrassment, but Ginny doesn't think she's doing badly. The girl just needs more confidence.

"I'll take it as a compliment," Ginny says, smiling, and Fay flushes again. "Please do," She says, around a mouthful of mashed potatoes, then flushes deeper, and doesn't speak for the rest of the meal.

Ginny shakes her head, more fondly than exasperated, as she turns to Neville, who's blinked himself awake in the time between Fay entering, and then escaping their conversation. Ginny doesn't fault her for it; you're bound to be a bit nervous around loads of people if you haven't had any friends for a really long time. Ginny thinks it's kind of impressive, that Fay's been able to brave meals in the Great Hall for the past six years when surrounded by about a thousand or _more_ total strangers, all being about as raucous as they come. 

"Sent your stuff off to your nan?" Ginny asks as she finishes the last bite of her hash brown.

Neville nods, sleepily wiping the grit from his eyes. He's gotten a lot better at this since last year, Ginny thinks - just, talking, being. There's a quiet sort of confidence that wasn't there before the DA, and it's part of why Ginny thinks they should keep the whole thing going. It wasn't just for knowledge; Harry might not know it, but he's _inspiring._ Teachers don't bother with building anything but skill, and that's fine, but some people need help with their character before any talent can manifest. Ron's great at quidditch, Ginny will admit, but he's pretty insecure about it - Harry faked using the Felix Felicis on him, and that helped. And no matter Hermione's opinion on the matter, that _was_ confidence building for Ron - as was the DA for Neville, and a whole bunch of other people. Harry doesn't know it, probably will never understand it, but there's this magnetism he has. Ginny feels like she can do anything (most of the time, but) especially around him - she just feels stronger standing side by side with Harry Potter, and it's not because he's the Boy Who Lived, it's because he's _Harry._ And Harry believes in _them,_ all of them, or at least, that's how he presents himself. When he finally decided to let them join him for the Battle at the DOM, at the time a mission to save Sirius - he was ready and willing to just... trust them, to just go there with Ron and hold the fort down, he was - he just... believed that they'd help, that they'd follow, that they wouldn't chicken out, or whatever. He was an idiot for it, but Ginny never said intelligence was the reason he was inspiring, otherwise, Hermione would be more well-liked. She'd have run the DA on her own, she wouldn't have needed Harry's face at the forefront to make it work. But she _had._ Because there _is_ just _something_ about Harry that... makes things work, even when they shouldn't. He brings out the best in the people Ginny knows. He saves lives without needing to _save_ them.

Ginny admires him for _him,_ nothing more and nothing less. She does wish, more and more as the years have gone by, that she hadn't been brought up with the stories random assholes had written with him the star of the show for a quick galleon, because it was exploitative as fuck, but also because he doesn't... there's a level of trust in how admiration works, for someone like Harry, because there's always the chance people are doing it for the wrong reasons. Ginny did, once, and she's done her best over the last three years to not do it again. It's worked, for the most part, in ways Hermione's advice hadn't.

Hermione's advice had gotten her a string of barely-functioning relationships with boys she doesn't even care for, really (Dean's lovely, though, and she feels bad about this one the most because she's snapping at him for dumbass reasons that aren't even his fault, just Seamus' accusing eyes making her feel guilty as Harry tries his best to not look like he's staring at her across the room - Ginny's not an idiot, and she isn't blind, either), truly... 

Eh. Ginny should've known better. Hermione's bad with emotions on a good day, no matter what the girl in question thinks she knows. She wouldn't do half the shit she has if she genuinely knows as much as she professes to.

Anyway.

"That's good," Ginny says. Neville smiles, half-sincere. "I suppose," He says, and that's true. Augusta's pretty bad at emotions on a good day, too. 

"You want to play exploding snap?" Ginny offers, and he nods, and that's that. 

* * *

The people staying in the Room over the Christmas Hols are thus;

  1. Harry Potter
  2. Ron Weasley
  3. Lavender Brown
  4. Ginny Weasley
  5. Fay Dunbar
  6. Hannah Abbott 
  7. Mandy Brocklehurst (Hannah invited her, apparently)



And, you know, Neville himself. That's only seven people. What with Hannah and Mandy being literally the only Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw at school currently, respectively, Neville would've felt pretty bad if they'd turned them away. Luckily for Mandy, Hannah could vouch for her character - and that was trustworthy enough, given Hannah being a member of the DA and all. Ex-member, like the rest of them, but... being a part of the DA was more than that, at least for Neville. It felt like it anyway, though he figures he had a different experience of it than the others who didn't go to the DOM at the end of the year.

The DA was... it was more than a study group, and it was more than a simple push back against Umbridge's narrative. It was something altogether stronger and - _more important_ than that. Neville just couldn't find the words for it. It meant _something._ Too powerful a something for Neville to really grasp it, but that might just be his age, the experience he has. Maybe in a decade, he could find a way to quantify the feeling the DA gave him, gives him, even if it's over, now.

Neville still keeps the coin in his back pocket, just in case. Alongside one of the sweet wrappers, because sometimes he just needs that comfort. His parents can't be here, physically or mentally, but... even just - just one sweet wrapper, kept back for him,  _just_ for Neville - it feels like enough, because - because it has to be. And it gives him courage, he admits, knowing that despite everything, they do support him, in the way that they can.

He feels like they'd be proud, enough, of the things he's done. And Neville can't say he would, if it weren't for the DA; if it weren't for Harry, for his friends. For Ginny, and the way she smiles at him, encouraging. For Ron, and the way, when he's fighting alongside him, Neville feels like he can take on the world (or just two kids twice the size of him; that was not, perhaps, Neville's smartest moment, but it is, Neville has decided, one of his bravest). For Hermione, even, and the way she helps him feel like he's not as stupid as he's been told because when she explains stuff, he gets it more than when Snape does. Neville might never be any good at potions, which is a shame because it goes hand and hand with Herbology - but, at least, he's not as disastrous as he would be, without Hermione's help.

Maybe that's the reason for his very personal, quiet anger with her. Well, of course, a lot of it's to do with attacking her _friend,_ because Neville can't even fathom why anyone would do that, _ever,_ not after how much your friends do for you (at least, from Neville's experience), but also... it's Ron, and it's Hermione.

Neville wouldn't have thought it of any of them, but if he'd have _had_ to say, he'd have figured Harry and Hermione to come to blows, first, out of the trio. Maybe for Harry to blow up at Ron, _maybe,_ in a million years - but... not for Hermione to attack Ron like that. Not even a little.

It's disconcerting. It kind of shook Neville's foundations, because he's always wanted the kind of friendship Harry and Ron and Hermione have, and that action, just that, it kind of... okay. Neville kind of did put the three's relationship on a pedestal, like, yes, _this_ is what you want in a friendship.

He guesses you should never do that. The higher the pedestal, the easier it is for it to come crashing down.

(The bigger they are, the harder they fall, and all.)

Neville turns away from the guest list, to see Hannah lingering, alone, near the fireplace. He walks over and stands nearby - he's partnered with her for the DA of course, and she's a lovely girl, but they don't really know each other. She's in his Herbology class, of course, and they have very nice in-depth conversations about plants, but other than that? She's better at Transfiguration and Herbology than DADA and Charms, and she knows slightly less about exotic flora but slightly more about local flora, but... yeah, that's it.

"Hey," Hannah says, as she looks up, her eyes turning away from the flickering fire. They're brown, Neville notes, and the light reflects burnt gold over her irises. She brushes a loose, ash-blonde curl behind her ear as she smiles at him. "It's strange to be here again," She comments, her gaze skittering across The Room. "After what happened."

Neville looks at the Memorial Wall, Cedric's youthful face smiling handsomely at the camera, Neville's parents standing arm-in-arm, alongside the other old Order members; James, with his likeness to Harry, Lily, with her deep red hair and pale skin and vibrantly emerald eyes, Sirius, with his mischevious smile and leather jacket over wizard robes - Remus, looking younger and happier but no less world-weary - so many, lost to time. Neville looks away, and he finds Hannah's eyes again; calm and soft and sympathetic, not lacking the pity he's used to, because pity is just something you feel, for people who've lost loved ones. But it feels less awkward, paired with her smile.

"I guess," Neville says, shifting his weight awkwardly, from leg to leg and back again. "I don't think about it that way."

"No?" Hannah inquires, curious. "How d'you see it, then?"

Neville looks at the pictures on the mantlepiece, photographs of people lost to time, and people here, in the now, and people none of them know at all. Lots of people have lost things over the years, but here, they can be found again. Neville's eyes focus on a young woman, arm in arm with another, eyes bright and smiles brighter. The one on the left, hair curly and skin dark, presses her mouth to the corner of the other's, and the one on the right laughs, looks at her girlfriend as if she hung the moon.

This is what they want to protect, Neville knows. Happiness. Voldemort and his lot would take that away from them, in all aspects of life. First freedom, and then everything else. Neville's not the smartest guy around, but even he knows that you shouldn't trust a guy like that to have your best interests at heart, no matter what they might be, those interests of yours. Voldemort's killed as many of his subordinates, his 'allies' as he has his enemies. You're just downright stupid if you choose him over _anything else at all_. Either that or brainwashed and crazy, but those are really your three options. 

"We know what we need to do, now," Neville says. "How we need to be more careful. But - I think this is the easiest year we're going to have it," He admits, a quiet sort of nagging fear of his. "I don't think... I don't think we should just abandon what the DA gave us."

"Hope," Hannah tells him. "It gave me hope, at least."

"We need it, I think," Neville says. "What the DA stands for, what it means. Freedom; to know what we need to know, to do what we need to do, to - be who we need to be."

Hannah reaches over, places a hand on his shoulder. He looks away from the mantlepiece. Hannah's eyes are piercing; kind, and understanding. "I think so too." She agrees, letting her hand fall from his shoulder, but keeping it lightly held around his wrist, a comforting sort of presence. "Ginny said something, earlier," Hannah says, quiet, at the same volume as the crackling fire. "About continuing it."

"I think that's a great idea," Neville says.

"Funny," Hannah smiles. "That's exactly what I said." She squeezes his wrist, lightly, then lets go. "Get some sleep, Neville," She says, "Big day tomorrow."

And wasn't it?

"Merry Christmas, Hannah." Neville offers. There's a flush on her cheeks, probably from the heat of the fire, since it had been there the whole conversation. "You too," Hannah smiles, then goes through a new door in the wall. The room was handy, in that regard, being able to conjure up new things and places and all that at the drop of a hat.

Neville watches her go, for a moment, then decides that is perhaps a bit creepy, and turns to go take her advice, instead.

* * *

Lavender drops a pillow on the ground, in front of the Christmas tree. It's eight in the morning, which is a decent enough compromise - Harry's the earliest riser out of the eight of them, followed by Mandy and Fay, but not for the same reasons (the girls have big families). Everyone else wants a lie-in, but it would be kind of awkward for them to be up for four hours longer than the rest of them - so, compromise.

Ron sinks down to the floor beside her. Harry is on the armchair already, reading through his often-used and half-abused copy of _Quidditch Throughout The Ages,_ the only book the bespeckled Gryffindor could be found consistently reading with any sort of enthusiasm. Harry clapped Ron on the shoulder in greeting as he got up to retrieve some of the presents. The others all filed in, one by one; Harry took it upon himself to chuck the least fragile seeming presents each person's way until they all had one to open.

Harry dropped back onto his seat, Hermione's present in hand. Ron had her's too - and Ron couldn't tell you why Harry decided to do this one first, but... yeah, it was probably better that way. Build less anticipation, or whatever.

Lavender got Parvati's present, Ginny got Luna's, which was bound to be interesting. Neville got Ginny's, Mandy got Hannah's (and vice versa), and Fay got Ron's.

"Okay," Harry says, "Who first?"

"Me," Mandy volunteers herself, sitting up. She opened hers by ripping it, but carefully; no small bits came flying off. Lavender leaned surreptitiously into Ron's side, and Ron curled his arm around her shoulders. She buried a smile into his shoulder, for a second, before looking up again, the light in her eyes dancing merrily.

"Oh, cool," Mandy comments, lackadaisically, with a wide smile, belying her real excitement at the present. She turned the box over in her hands - lips twitching as if trying to widen her already painfully happy smile. "I can't wait to get out of this hellhole and play this," She says, patting the shiny box.

" _Pokemon's_ always a good choice," Fay smiles, nodding. Mandy hums in agreement, leaning back on her arms. "I might as well go next," Hannah states, pulling the spellotape off of her present very cautiously; she's the sort to try and _not_ rip the paper. After some coaxing, and minimal tears, she removes the packaging and smiles at the book within. "Oooh," She - says? - a smile more subdued but equally as happy as Mandy's appearing on her face. "This is so great, thank you!"

Mandy smiles bashfully. "Well, you know," She says. "Can't go wrong with C. S. Lewis, can I?"

"Chronicles of Narnia," Hannah says, reverently, "Is something you can _absolutely not go wrong with."_

These are all muggle things, Ron thinks, with vague awareness.

"They released a collection of that?" Fay asks.

"Years ago," Hannah says, waving a hand, "But mum's old battered copy of the series exists, so they don't let me get a _frivolous_ all-in-one copy. Bah."

"If you want it badly enough, it's not frivolous," Ginny states, lifting herself up, narrowly missing hitting her head on Harry's. "Alright," She says, "My turn."

Ginny opens her present with enthusiasm, paper being discarded in all directions. "Right." She says, opening the box. "Oh, wow," She stares. "Oh, Luna."

Ginny puts the box down, takes out her wand and levitates the contents away from them. _"Finite incantatum,"_ She states, and it grows exponentially - a large canvas mural of them all.

"You'll all have one too," Ginny says. "Well. Harry, Ron - Nev - you will."

'Them all' meaning 'those that went to the DOM', in this case, Ron reflects. It's a painting, one with obvious care - Ginny's front and centre in this one, but Ron imagines each of them will be front and centre in the others. Regardless - Ginny stands (short), front and centre - Luna on her right, then Ron on her left, then Harry beside Ron and Neville beside Luna, each being slightly behind the one previously mentioned. Hermione's there, too. The arch looms behind the group, and they all have their wands raised, high, and the Death Eaters loom, ominous, in the black of the background. There's enough light from their wands, though, to almost drown them out. Like - like hope, or something.

"She's a very good painter," Harry says, with some mild surprise.

"Luna's very talented," Ginny agrees, leaning the canvas against the wall. "I'll hang it up later." She states, "For now - " She lowers her wand and turns, lightly elbows Neville and removes her legs from his lap. "Open yours, Neville."

The teen in question nods, picking his up from between him and Hannah, before carefully, but without bothering to not rip it, removing the wrapping paper.

"This was - eh, kind of annoying to find," Ginny admits, pulling her legs up, resting her chin on her knees. "I had to find one with _helpful_ comments instead of some idiotic bullshit."

Neville turns the book over, a slightly faded copy of a book with a potentially Latin title (Ron can't read it, but... well, that's not the be-all and end-all of tests, honestly). He opens it, smiles at the note on the inside, and blinks at the name signalling who owned it, once.

"Sometimes you find gems," Ginny smiles proudly. "An old herbology textbook from one of the greatest minds of the last generation? Yeah. That's a good find." She laughs, properly. "You'll be surprised who sells stuff to second-hand shops when they don't need it no more."

Neville nods, distantly. "Thank you," He mumbles, already engrossed in the annotations. Ginny pats his shoulder. "No problem." She says. "Okay. Harry?"

Harry obliges, opening his present up. His lips are pressed together, tight, like he's not sure whether to accept this or to throw it in the fireplace. "Broom cleaning kit," He says, bored sounding. "Inventive," He adds, and Ginny smothers a snort.

Safe. It's a safe bet, getting Harry that. Nothing more, nothing less. She probably got it him months ago, anyway, so there's no point thinking about why she did it. Whatever she's gotten them probably isn't influenced by - what happened any more than what Ron got her is, because after last year's disaster he's just sent her Mum's fudge. Which isn't great, either, because her parents are dentists, but what the hell is he supposed to do about that? Books are _expensive,_ especially the sort she likes, and Ginny's lucky with what she found for Neville; that sort of thing isn't commonplace, and besides, Hermione's pickier than Neville is - she'd consider it cheating, to get a second-hand book, like she thinks Harry's book is cheating. That's stupid, and there's not much Hermione does that Ron could call that, but that point-of-view is very _clearly stupid._ Ron only knows as much as he does because he works _with_ Harry (and Hermione, when she feels like it, but to be fair - she doesn't take all the same subjects) to understand the shit thrown at them from one lesson to the next.

"Lav?" Ron prompts. Lavender nods, then opens her present - and it's a delicate little thing, a silver bracelet that kind of clashes with Lavender's usual choice of chunky, colourful bangles, but it's cute on her, like most stuff is, because _she's_ beautiful, and Ron bets she could probably rock a dress made out of paper, or something. Maybe even his _godawful robes_ from fourth year, which Ron is half certain _were_ his aunt's at one point, knowing how stuff goes through the second-hand cycle. There are only so many people in the wizarding world; the Weasley's are bound to get some of their _own_ second-hand shit eventually.

Anyway - Lavender swaps the bracelets on her right arm to her left then holds out her hand. Ron, very carefully, clasps the silver band shut, and she shakes it, letting the little crystals catch in the light, little rainbows dancing in their midst. "Aww," She says. "I'll need to send a thank-you note, this is beautiful."

She smiles up at him, sunnily, presses a soft kiss to his lips, then pulls back. "Your turn," She says, slightly less cheerily, and Ron thinks maybe the kiss was half-good-luck, half-apology. Not that Lav's got anything to be sorry for. None of this is her fault, not at all.

Lavender had gravitated into his lap at some point, but she moves back onto her pillow without any fanfare in order to let him open his present with more ease. Ron rips it open much as Ginny had, with little care, and frowns at the contents. It's just a pack of chocolate frogs, which shouldn't make Ron feel anything, really. It's a standard present, and probably one that's half-apology for her own shitty present last year, but it feels hollow, now, in a way that he can't name.

"Well, that took effort," Harry says, dryly. Ron hadn't put any effort into his own present for Hermione, either, though, so it's... really only fair.

"Whatever," Ron grumbles. There are enough chocolate frogs for all of them, so they share them out; Ron gets two, since they were his originally, and there are nine in the packet.

After they finish that off, Fay opens her present - Fudge, and a random assortment of sweets from Honeydukes. She smiles happily at him as she nibbles on a sugar quill. "Thanks," She says, cheerfully, eyes sparkling in a way that makes them all feel a little better. Ron feels pretty bad she'd had no friends for so long, because she's honestly a pretty nice person. Ron thinks about - Harry, or Hermione, having been left with no friends for six years, and wonders at the strength this girl has, quietly, in her character, to be pretty much alright after that.

Well.

After that, they open their presents more quickly. Harry gets a jumper, as do Ron and Ginny. Ron gets a different jumper, this one from Harry - Chudley Cannons, limited, from the eighties, and he immediately discards the maroon monstrosity to wear the bright orange one, because at least he _likes_ orange and the Chudley Cannons. He feels bad, though, because it's softer too, and that's probably because - entirely because of _pricing,_ and then Ron's starting down the path of _how much does this cost,_ so he's going to nip that right in the bud. He's not arguing with Harry _too._

"I'm guessing you don't like maroon?" Mandy inquires.

"Not even a little," Ginny says, disparagingly, on his behalf. "And yet, every year..." Harry trails off.

"You can only buy so much at once," Ron says, uncomfortable. "Mum can only get so many colours."

"You're wizards," Mandy says, rolling her eyes. "If all else fails, buy white wool and _make_ your own _dye._ Then you have the right amount of _any_ colour. If that fails, _permanent colour changing charms exist._ " She points at Harry. "I mean, look at that! That's a great jumper, so what's her excuse?"

Ron looks away. Harry grimaces, as Ginny presses her lips together.

Lavender squeezes his hand, most of the way back onto his lap already. "Hey," She says, quietly. Ron looks at her, and she smiles, and that's distracting enough, which is probably her intention. It chases any bad thoughts away, at least, because it's hard to stick down any sort of negative path with her looking at him _like that._ Like he means something to her, something more than just - someone to cuddle up to, and someone to snog. And they do plenty of both of those, sure, but that's just because the former's nice and the latter's fun, alright. She means - more than just that, too. 

But - Merlin, she really is beautiful, in her kindness and understanding and quiet intelligence.

"Alright," Mandy says. "I'll pass more around."

Harry gets maggots from Kreacher, which is hilarious and awful (Mandy is apparently deathly afraid of creepy-crawlies, which he sympathises with because _spiders_ ), a large box of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products from Fred and George, which comes with a note Harry manages to hide before anyone other than Ron appears to notice it - probably for the better, that - and, along with the jumper he'd already donned, a box of customary fudge from Ron's mum. There was, for everyone, various forms of chocolate from Fay, a joint present from Mandy in thanks for letting her stay here, instead of alone in the tower, and another from Hannah, for the same - and there's Neville's presents for them, and Ginny's, and then Ron's got a present from Lavender being handed to him, carefully and with confidence, by the girl in question.

"Here you go," She smiles, taking the chance to press her lips to his in a quick peck, again. "Tell me what you think?" She asks, tone hopeful.

Ron opens it, then opens the box the present came in.

It's a chess book.

"There's an audio recording, too," Lavender says, tone still hopeful. "I know reading can get really dull so, you know." She shrugs, a smile playing with the corners of her mouth. "There aren't many wizard books on the matter, but Muggles have a whole _profession_ around it, so I figured they'd have a good enough idea of how chess works." She tugs at a curl, something of a nervous tick.

It's funny, but most people forget Ron even _likes_ chess. Harry got him a moves book once, but that's about it, in terms of chess-related presents, and he'd known pretty much all the stuff in there anyway, mostly because Harry didn't have any clue what he was supposed to be looking for - he's terrible at chess, so that's fine, and the gift was genuinely appreciated, given most of Ron's birthday gifts seem to default to 'oh, food, that's easy.' Which, don't get him wrong, Ron's not going to turn down chocolate and sweets and all that, but... you know. It doesn't take much effort to get someone chocolate - it takes a bit of effort and a bit of personal knowledge to get them something more... individual.

"Thank you," Ron says, awkwardly, and the smile threatening to break through wins out, but Ron doesn't get to see it much before she throws her arms around his neck and commits to settling in his lap. "Um," She whispers, "Maybe thank your sister a little, 'cause I'm not actually very good at presents," She giggles, slightly, quietly. "I never know what people might like, so..."

"Noted," Ron whispers back. "Maybe I will."

Lavender smiles into his shoulder. Ron smiles into her hair.

"Alright, lovebirds, my turn," Ginny states, grabbing her next present. "It's from Dean," She says, and Lavender lifts her head to watch whatever it is get unwrapped. From the wreckage, Ginny reveals - it's a picture of the Harpies, signed by them all, and - Merlin, that can't have been cheap.

"Oh," She says, quietly, and there's a smile on her lips, but a tightness to her eyes. Ron's not the best with this sort of thing, but something about her countenance reads like _guilt._ "That's great," She says, genuinely, carefully putting it down on the low table and smoothing her hand over it with clear reverence. "That's really great," And there's a sort of mild despondency to her tone. "Merlin, mine looks terrible now," She laughs, awkwardly. "What've you got there?" She asks Fay, who jumps and blushes pink, then nods hastily. "It's from Dad," She says, simply, a genuine smile on her face. "He always gives the best presents," She says, but her eyes are on Ginny like she _knows_ this was intentional; an abrupt change of topic to - draw attention away, or something.

"That's good," Mandy says. "Dad can't buy presents to save his life..." She starts, and the conversation follows from there - but Ron keeps half an eye on Ginny, and notes, absently, that Harry's doing the same.

* * *

Harry pauses, as he's about to enter the seventh-floor corridor because he can - hear someone. A girl's voice, high and nasally, youthful - probably about twelve, maybe, the person who it belongs to.

"You were _supposed to be keeping an eye on it!"_ The voice is half-yelling. Harry can hear the thud of footsteps heavy from annoyance, as the girl presumably paces the breadth of the hallway. " _You are fucking useless, you know that?"_

Well then. To be fair, swearing isn't _that_ weird, coming from kids - Ron's certainly said enough in his time for Hermione to gasp at, and so has Harry. You pick up a lot from the kind of arsehole teenagers that hang around kid's play parks with cigarettes and beer cans, for Harry's excuse, and Ron has _five older brothers,_ for his. 

" _Sorry, Dr-"_

 _"Are you an idiot, **Sarah?"**_ The voice says, mockingly. " _Anyone could hear us!"_

 _"Right, right,"_ The other girl grunts awkwardly. There's a shuffling sound, as if she's swinging her leg, scuffing her shoe on the floor. " _Sorry."_

" _Don't do it again,"_ ' _Dr'_ says, huffing. " _Come on, we don't want to get caught."_

Harry pulls back into an alcove, and the three girls - because there were three, apparently - pass him by; a Hufflepuff, a Ravenclaw, and a Slytherin, which should not be possible since he hasn't seen any of these kids around this holiday, and Hannah and Mandy were adamant they were the only ones in their respective houses here, this Christmas. 

Well, that's not suspicious at all, Harry thinks sarcastically, looking after the 'children' as they walked down the corridor, with complete and total suspicion.

Harry hastily pulls out the map from his pocket, because he goes everywhere with the damn thing, and checks the map for names nearby.

Of _fucking course._ Harry curses, loudly, and storms towards the Room.

* * *

Everyone evacuates the room, and then Harry paces in front of the door.

 _Show me what Malfoy comes here for,_ he thinks, viciously, three times, and the door materialises. Harry goes through it first, the angriest and the most annoyed - but also the most vindicated, because he was goddamn _right -_ and Ron, then Ginny, then Neville and Lavender and Mandy and Fay follow inside.

"Ha." Harry says, shortly, pleased in a sort of _I wish I wasn't right_ way.

"You told us so," Ron sighs, walking towards the cabinet curiously. "What would he want with a broken old vanishing cabinet, though?"

"You remember, he was looking at one in Borgin and Burkes," Harry says. "Makes sense, doesn't it?"

"He's looking to fix it," Ron says, with sudden realisation. They look at each other, and take out their wands at the same time, but Ginny beats them to it.

" _Reducto!"_ She shouts, and the vanishing cabinet shudders apart, bits flying everywhere. They have to cover their faces, but it works just fine; once the dust settles, the cabinet is in much worse repair than before.

"Now what?" Ron says.

"Well, we need him to think this didn't happen," Mandy says. "He's not an idiot, unfortunately, that thing was a few months away from working, probably, by the look of it - so we need a convincing fake."

She steps forward. "Reparo," She intones, and puts the vanishing cabinet back together.

"What are you doing?" Ron demands.

"Breaking it further," She smiles. "We want to link it to another 'cabinet', that way we can keep an eye on what Malfoy's doing with it, and he can think it's working. We don't want it leading wherever he wants it to take people from, right? so we have it go somewhere else. Um..."

She seems to think very hard for a moment, and then a wardrobe is in the room. "Nice," She says. "Um, my dad's a halfblood, and his brother's wife's sister does furnishings." She laughs, awkwardly. "Vanishing cabinets aren't exactly common, but they're popular, you know? I did a stint with her last summer, for some cash, you know - anyway - "

She frowns, tilting her head. "I don't really know what I'm doing, but the whole point is to fuck this up, right?"

"Pretty much," Ginny agrees.

Mandy smiles, and then gets to work.

* * *

Four hours later finds them still camped out in the room with the cabinet, but thankfully, at some point, somewhat had the foresight to change the door to that of their normal Room setup, so that if Malfoy came a' knockin' he wouldn't find anything too amiss.

This was all very exciting. Mandy hadn't had a very exciting last six years if she's honest. Which! That's great, and all. Mandy's very glad she didn't have to do anything particularly daring over the last few years - she knows herself well, Mandy likes to think, and she knows she's not the bravest sort. Fuck, she can't even bring herself to tell her mum that she doesn't like her fish cakes; she wouldn't be able to face down death eaters and _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,_ and all that! Nope, no thanks. Some people are meant for the front lines, and Mandy is just not one of them. And that's fine. Mandy knows her limits.

And this is that.

Now, Mandy knows as much as you might think about vanishing cabinets, which is to say, she'd used one when she was working with her - let's say, distant aunt, just for ease - and she'd had a perfunctory glance at the spells required to make a pair, but that's it. It wasn't nearly enough, and Malfoy had probably been doing his research - but in her worry, a table and a book popped up next to her - well, actually, a few books - and in that, yay! Information. So Mandy can fuckin' get to work, bitches.

"How's it going?" Fay asks, quietly. She's softly spoken at times, strong and blunt at others, awkward and cracking the rest. Mandy didn't even know she _existed_ until now, and she feels a little awkward about that, but whatever. Mandy's not a very social person herself. She didn't even know what Ginny's name was, Merlin.

"It's going," Mandy says, wryly, and Fay flushes. "Right," She says, awkwardly. "Anything I can do?" She asks, a little louder, after clearing her throat. 

"Not really?" Mandy hesitates. "I mean, you could maybe have a look through those books and see - see if you could find something useful?"

Fay nods, rapidly. "I can do that," She says, with confidence. "I can do that," She repeats, quieter, more self-reassuring, as she dives into the pile with determined fervour.

Mandy smiles, then turns back to her work.

* * *

"Unbreakable vow," Harry repeats, slowly, frowning at Ron. "Yeah. That's what it was."

Ron leans back, looking supremely worried - Lavender's frowning, worried for his sake, as much as she is at the implications. She's leaning a little towards Ron, one of his larger hands clasped in her smaller ones, resting on his leg, just above the knee.

She's alright, Harry has decided, though he'd decided that a while ago, now - but... this confirms it, this - couple weeks they've all spent here, enjoying the holiday, in close proximity. Harry hadn't really _liked_ Lavender _or_ disliked her, he just hadn't known what to make of her; all he'd really ever seen was a lot of giggling and gossiping, and that wasn't really the sort of thing that warms anyone up to him, Harry will admit. But she's nice enough, right? She's nice to Ron, which is the point. Other than that, Harry doesn't have to have an opinion; she's good to and _for_ Ron, so Harry likes her. That's that.

"Well that's not good," Lavender says. "You die if you break those, don't you?"

Harry's eyes widen, minutely. "Why on earth would he -"

"Aha!" Mandy says, loudly, at that moment. "We did it!"

She high-fives Fay, who's grinning (if slightly taken-aback by the action), and who nods at them all in turn, equally as pleased as the Ravenclaw. "We did it," Fay says, happily. "C'mon, look - look!"

Mandy chucks a transfigured tortoise into the cupboard - it still looks a lot like a cup, but it is distinctly a tortoise - and the sound of something hitting the base of the other wardrobe can be heard.

"Um, the trip is kind of..." Mandy winces, as she opens the wardrobe, and the cup-tortoise is - very dead. "Fatal," She finishes, awkwardly. "But it works! So whatever Malfoy puts in on his end, we can get from this end," She gestures to the wardrobe, "Bada-bing, bada-boom!"

"Okay," Harry says, slowly. "That's great, but where are we going to keep the wardrobe?"

"Where we're putting the DA," Ginny announces. "We can shrink it right? That won't mess up the charms?"

"Probably!" Mandy says, cheerfully. "But I did it once, I can fix it again! And it'd mess up the charms on the wardrobe's end, which will be easy enough to fix, anyway." She says, with clearly false bravado.

"Alright," Harry allows. Mandy shoots finger-guns his way, which is an... odd choice. "Great!" She nods, decisively. "Where are we taking it then?"

Harry looks at Ginny, who's shoulder's straighten, a light in her eyes like fire, burning strong and bright, captivating in a way that's _entirely inappropriate,_ because she has a boyfriend, even if that makes Harry's stomach churn, and _Ron is her brother,_ which is the more important part of it all.

Harry can't take the idea of losing Ron to something as _stupid_ as a crush on his sister. Besides - Harry's likely already missed whatever chance he _might_ have had with Ginny, knowing him.

Still. She'd looked awfully guilty, in regards to Dean's present - and maybe, potentially, in regards to Dean in general.

"The only other place that's _completely_ safe," She says, very seriously. "The Chamber of Secrets."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (lmao i'm not even american,,,, the fuck am I sayin /y'all/ for)
> 
> So I kind of don't know where I am in the timeline a;lkdsjg;alskdgj; plz don't kill me, Christmas should have already passed if I knew what I was doing?? I'm pretty sure?? since the Slughorn Christmas party happened before the 'golden bullets' incident sooooooooooooo don't kill me lol, we're just gonna.... slide past that issue and pretend that's not the case, in the sense that it was a /very pre-/christmas party like, it was a Christmas party just like, in November, okay??? thank you, this and the previous chapter happen in December, so we've got six-ish months left of story, idk how long that's gonna be in chapters since the chapters prior to the last chapter were all in November, man, that was a busy month in this timeline, lmao, I'm consistent in my pacing, nine chapters for November and two for December,,,, that's class, that is. #sarcasm
> 
> anyway, next chapter is January, hopefully I'll know where I am in the timeline from now on.... I'm a Professional I Promise, it did not take me 11 goddamn chapters to know what the fuck I'm doing, no sir! Scout's Honor!
> 
> (citation: I was never a scout; I'm English, oops) 
> 
> (Also: Literally everything goes the hell down in chapter fourteen, 'Felix Felicis', and chapter fifteen, doesn't it, Jesus Christ, like they're the chapters of - harry fake spiking Ron's drink and Hermione's disbelief at Ron's talent, the infamous Slughorn Christmas Party, and the even more infamous golden fuckin bullets I named this goddamn story after, like, holy shit, poor Ron, this is /not/ his time)

**Author's Note:**

> #ronweasleydefensesquad #youdon'thurtyourfriendskids #that'seitherassaultorabusedon'tdoit #harry'sanabusedkid;thatshouldhavebeendealtwithatsomepointbutwassteadfastedlyignoredandihateit #jkcancatckarockettospaceidon'twantherheretohurtthesecharactersanymorethanshealreadyhas


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